


DragonAge: The Halla Tainted

by EvaGalana



Series: The Halla [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvaGalana/pseuds/EvaGalana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan is a young Grey Warden; Adaia a Dalish hero of the Rebellion.  Can the Dalish huntress set aside her distrust of humans to help the Grey Wardens?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bright sunshine streamed in through the large windows of the tidy office of the Commander of the Grey in Fereldan. Central to the room's scope was a massive desk of old oak, upon which were three neat piles of correspondence. A large, stone fireplace dominated the far wall. Pictures of landscapes adorned the inner most wall. A soft carpet of grey covered the floor. Cozy, neat, tidy.

"She can be difficult," the man of mid-years stated, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced the floor. Turning, his blue eyes met the dark orbs of the younger warden standing before him.

The dark young man raised his head, meeting the stern gaze of the Commander of the Grey in Fereldan. "Then why are we seeking her help?" he asked, his voice smooth, his eyes gleaming with barely contained humor.

Frowning, the senior warden ran a hand through his blond hair. When he was perturbed, his heavy Orlesian accent became thicker. And, he was perturbed. "Because she knows her way through the Brecilian Forest and has an uncanny knack for getting out of whatever trouble she finds herself in," he replied, feeling as though he had made this same argument already. Wait, he had. Twice actually. First to the King, and then again to that stubborn bastard of a Teyrn. Both men had explained that the woman would be less than accommodating, especially with Orlesians, but Aldrich had to try. She was the only Dalish even remotely cooperating with any not of Dalish blood.

He felt that this would be an excellent assignment for his second as well. Brash, overly confident (or rather, over confident), Duncan seemed the perfect warden to pair up with the Dalish hero. If they could get her to cooperate.

From all he had heard of her, that was a terribly big 'if'.

His gaze swept over the younger warden. He was a rogue, not just in attitude and countenance, but profession and skills as well. He recalled Genevieve telling him once that the young man before him could be obstinate, difficult to follow orders, a troublemaker at the best of times, but overall a good man. Stubborn, that was how Aldrich described his second. Well, that would work well with the elf we're trying to garner to our side.

With a heavy sigh, the senior warden turned back to the younger man. "You most likely will find her in the Alienage. I understand her husband is an artisan therein." He watched the other man frown. Oh, he's disappointed to learn she's married! "They recently had a child, so that should really make it easy to convince her to assist you." Another nail. There was no way she would help them, but they had to try.

The Commander's second groaned. "Okay, so you are ordering me to try and convince a Dalish hunter who hates humans to leave her new family, come along with an unknown Grey Warden and travel with him to the Brecilian Forest?" A dark brow quirked upwards, "Just how crazy are you?"

Aldrich chuckled. Normally he would not have appreciated insubordination; however, he had to agree. Just how crazy was he?

"She can be taciturn," he advised the young man, "but she has a strong sense of honor. And she fought hard to help free Fereldan." he gave a slight shrug. "Perhaps mention Teyrn Loghain. That may help."

"Not the king?"

Aldrich chortled at that. "No, for Maker's Sake do not mention the King to this woman! I understand she does not care much for him. She even has a special nickname she uses for him."

That brow quirked up higher. "Care to let me know what it is?"

"Whimpering Idiot."

Dark eyes widened, both brows now nearly into his dark hairline. "Whimpering Idiot?"

The blond warden nodded sagely, grinning broadly. "I understand that the King never knows when she's speaking to him unless she first calls him out by that particular name."

"To his face?"

"Absolutely." His face tightened. "This woman does not know the meaning of fear. Nor of proper protocol, etiquette, or tact."

The young warden grinned broadly. "Great! We'll get along just swimmingly!"

Chuckling in reply, Aldrich pulled out a packet of papers and handed them to the younger Warden. "These are your orders. There is also a request herein signed by the Teyrn, in case you need it to convince the Dalish huntress."

The dark warden took the papers and then tucked them into a hip pouch. Straightening, he crossed his arms to his chest, bowing slightly. As he turned, Aldrich called out to him.

"Oh, and Duncan," the young man turned back. "Good luck."

Feeling as though he would need it, just in trying to get the assistance Aldrich felt he needed, the young man nodded once, and then turned away, leaving the warden's office, and headed toward the Alienage of Denerim.


	2. Chapter 2

"Soris," a calm, low female voice called to the red haired elven child, "come away from the cradle. Adela needs her nap."

"But Auntie Daia…" the elven child whined, his bright blue eyes fixed upon the sleeping infant nestled in the soft bedding of the wooden cradle.

"No buts, da'len," the blonde elven woman, tall and straight, dressed in a simple but well made dress of greens and browns, stepped to the child, pulling him away from the baby's sleeping form. Tsking quietly at the child, she pulled him to the table, setting a bowl of soup and some bread before him.

Taking a seat next to her nephew, the elven woman's gray blue eyes twinkled with merriment as she watched the boy - barely beyond his second year of life, and yet seeming so much older in his maturity - slurp the hot meat and vegetable laden soup down.

"Why does Adela sleep so much?" the boy whispered between spoonfuls of his lunch, his eyes straying again toward the cradle.

"Babies need their sleep to grow, little one," the woman whispered back, a long, calloused hand sweeping out to brush unruly red hair from the child's eyes. He blinked up at his beloved aunt. He put his spoon down, raising a small hand to trace over the tattoo that encircled her eye.

"I like your tat-at-too," he crooned, grinning up at her with childlike fascination.

Chuckling at the boy, the woman rose gracefully to her feet, plunking a quick kiss to the crown of the boy's head. "Maybe when you are of age, da'len," she whispered conspiratorially to him, "you may get your own markings."

"Does it hurt?" he asked, resuming spooning the food into his mouth.

Moving to the cradle, gazing down at the babe therein, the Dalish woman nodded. "Indeed it did, little one," she smiled to the boy, who had stopped eating and was grimacing at her. "But, it is a right of passage from childhood to being an adult. The pain is endured, proving that you have the will to protect your clan." She turned back to the baby, brushing over her serene face lightly, smoothing the halo of bright yellow hair framing her face.

"Will Adela get one?" he asked.

"If that is her wish," Soris' aunt turned back to the boy, smiling. "I would allow her to choose her own path, Soris. As I would encourage you to do so with your own life."

Shrugging, not truly understanding what his aunt was saying, Soris continued his meal with gusto. She smiled at the boy, a small shake of her head as she drifted from the dining area to the front room. She had expected her husband to have returned by now, and she was a little worried about his tardiness.

She turned from those thoughts as the door opened, welcoming in her husband.

Cyrion Tabris stepped through the door to his modest and comfortable home. His dark hair was pulled back in a braid, white powder dusting it lightly, giving it an almost gray look. Despite being a decade his wife's senior, Cyrion still maintained the bounce of youth in his step, and his blue eyes twinkled with merriment. Easy going by nature, he was the perfect match to his wife's fiery personality.

Only Cyrion could make Adaia's grey-blue eyes darken to an almost cerulean shade by merely being near. She stepped to meet him, hugging him close, kissing his cheek in greeting.

"My lovely wife," Cyrion murmured, turning his face to capture her lips with his own. Even after so many years of marriage, Adaia still enchanted him.

There was a subtle, polite cough from the still open doorway, and the pair of elves parted. Lifting her head, she was surprised to see a young human male standing there. Her eyes narrowed, and any hint of welcome therein disappeared, becoming gray-blue as she studied the man before them.

His hair was dark, as was his skin, marking him as Riviani. He was dressed in black leathers, unconventional in their many strappings and buckles. A pair of daggers hung comfortably at his hips. Her scrutiny took in the mischievous look in his dark eyes.

"Husband," Adaia spoke in a voice the told her husband she was not happy with their guest's presence. "What manner of person have you brought to our doorstep?"

Cyrion did not miss the warning in his wife's voice. He knew well her dislike of humans. However, when the young man had approached him, asking for an audience with his Dalish wife, he could not refuse. The young man had been polite and sincere in his request.

"Daia," Cyrion spoke quietly to his wife, using his pet name for her in hopes of her keeping her tongue civil. "This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."

A look of recognition flashed through her eyes, and she turned them back to the young man, watching as he squirmed somewhat under their intensity.

"So," she spoke, her voice hard, "Duncan of the Grey Wardens," the young man bowed his head slightly at her. "What business is it you have with me?"

oOo

Duncan stared at the woman the artist, Cyrion, embraced. It was she! He could not believe his luck. The woman he was to ask assistance from was the one he had seen in the market just barely a year before. He could never forget the graceful body, yellow blond hair or stormy eyes. The small smile she had given him then came back to his mind, and he found himself smiling at the memory of the mischievous turn of her lips.

That smile quickly faded as the elven woman confronted him with something less than politeness, something that did not contain any of the mischief he had seen in her smile then. However, he did recognize the stormy gray her eyes now were.

He glanced about the room: the house this family lived in was palatial compared to others in the Alienage. Yet, this was Grey Warden business and he felt they needed more privacy than what was afforded now. He saw the small elven boy watching him with interest. Or rather, staring at his daggers with great interest. The boy raised impossibly blue eyes to his, and Duncan offered him a small smile before turning back to the Dalish woman.

"Is there, perhaps, another place we can go to speak?" he asked, keeping his voice low and polite, recalling his commander's words that this woman was difficult to deal with at best. Moreover, after this very brief encounter, he found himself believing those words.

Glancing at her husband, and then toward the cradle tucked in the corner, the elven woman turned back to the Warden, and gave him a quick, curt nod as she reached for her cloak.

oOo

The tall Dalish hunter stormed into the palace, hunting out Loghain's offices. Throwing open the door, the enraged elf stormed into his office, scowling severely at the attendant who stood before the Teyrn's desk. With a nod, the dark haired nobleman dismissed the young man, who eagerly and without hesitation left.

Once the door had been meekly closed, the Dalish woman turned hot eyes to the man she had once considered a friend.

"How dare you!" she accused, pointing a finger at Loghain as he rose to meet her, glare for glare.

"What, exactly, are you storming about now, Adaia?" he asked, feeling certain he knew the answer to that before she had even opened her mouth to reply.

"You know damn well to what I refer, Loghain," the elf countered, her steely gray eyes narrowing. "You gave my name to the shems of the Grey Wardens and told them that I would guide them through the Brecilian Forest and Wilds?" She stepped nearer, not intimidated one bit by the imposing figure of the Teyrn.

Loghain did not back down in the face of the irate elf. He knew Adaia to be a formidable warrior, and knew that she cared not one wit about his station. However, he trusted - or rather hoped - she still considered him a friend, and would not kill him outright until he had time to explain.

"You seemed the most likely candidate to assist them, and so Maric and I advised them to seek you out and request your assistance," he replied calmly.

"And I seem to recall telling you, Rowan and the Idiot that I would not lift one finger to help the shems of Fereldan ever again!" she sneered. "Not until the fool honors his promise!"

She turned to leave, having made her point clear. Loghain's voice stopped her march out the door.

"Adaia, please," he called, his voice still cool. "It may well be more than just humans who would benefit from your offering them your assistance." He frowned; he could not believe he was actually trying to convince his friend to help the Grey Wardens. However, it had seemed important to Maric, and after going through the request himself, Loghain found himself agreeing. He had other reasons for wanting someone he could trust to go into the Wilds, but he was not about to put voice to that at this time.

Frowning, Adaia turned to face Loghain. "What do you mean by that, Loghain?"

With a slight shrug of his broad shoulders, the Teyrn walked over to his friend. Staring down at her, he replied, "If whatever is growing in the wilds continues, how long before it threatens the Clans?"

Closing her eyes, the Dalish warrior frowned. "Are you asking me, as a friend, to assist these shems?" she asked, opening her eyes, still steely gray in her anger.

"I am," came the prompt reply.

She stood there, motionless, for many moments. She turned, her eyes sharp. "I will do this only if I can be assured the Alienage will be protected." A scowl marred her lovely face as Loghain opened his mouth. "No!" she swiped her hand out sharply, cutting off any objection the Teyrn would make. "I am the only thing that stands between these flat ears and open abuse at the hands of their lords!" She took a step forward, standing nearly nose to nose with the human. "I want your personal assurance that they will be protected in my absence."

Loghain scowled down at the elf, his eyes icy, brow furrowed. "I have other duties," he coldly advised her, refusing to give in to her demands. "The citizens of Fereldan…"

There was a sharp 'crack' as Adaia's hand flashed out, delivering a painful, and resounding slap to Loghain's pale cheek.

"Don't you dare!" she hissed between clenched teeth. "The elves are as much citizens of Fereldan as any of your shems!" The harsh red imprint of her hand glared maliciously from Loghain's flesh. He did not blink, did not retaliate in the heat of her anger.

With one final look, she spun on her heels. "Find someone else to lead your shem, Loghain. Find someone who knows the Forests and Wilds as well as I." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "I'm certain that you may find my clan somewhere within the depths of the Forest. Mayhap you could even manage to convince one of my Hunters to assist you." A spiteful smile crossed her face. "Although, without my word, I doubt you would even find my Clan."

Her hand went to the door, twisting the knob, readying to throw the door open. Again, Loghain found himself calling to her. Her back stiffened, but she did not turn.

"The Alienage will be protected," Loghain promised, hating the blackmail she perpetrated upon him, but understanding the need to do so all too well.

A shake of her sunny blond head, and Adaia turned back to the man. "If you have to stand guard yourself, Teyrn," she spat, taking one strong stride forward. "You will do so. I'll not have anymore of your shem lies!"

The Teyrn straightened, his eyes glaring at his friend. "I have never lied to you, Adaia," he hissed out, angry she would even accuse him of such a thing.

"Yet you stand here and still allow your King to continue with his own," she spat back, years of anger and resentment coming to the forefront. "I told him not to make that promise if he had no intention of keeping it!"

"What else could he do?" Loghain roared, stepping forward, wanting to grab the insolent woman by the shoulders and shake her, but knowing that any physical contact would completely unglue her and she would never help. "He needed you! And without the promise, you would have walked away and taken your Hunters with you!"

Those gray-blue eyes, stormy as the water of the ocean during a hurricane with her anger, searched Loghain's face. "It's always about you shemlen, isn't it?" she whispered, the force of her anger as strong as if she had yelled. "Always the elves of your nation are nothing, despite the blood they spill, despite all they suffer and have to give up so that you shems can somehow feel superior." She lifted her head proudly. "We are the elder race, yet enslaved to those who would feast ever upon their own fallen." Loghain winced at that.

"Don't make this promise, Maric, if you do not mean it," Adaia pleaded quietly, surprising her companions by using Maric's given name. Loghain felt his heart stop. For her to plead with the man, to use his name, told the young man just how much these words meant to her, how much she wanted to believe them.

Maric blinked his blue eyes, fixing them upon Adaia's dirty, beautiful face. Loghain knew that she enchanted the young prince; knew that her fierceness and beauty captivated Maric and his imagination. She had captivated himself as well, although in a completely different manner; to him she was what a true Fereldan should be, regardless of race: fierce, proud, strong. Willing to give up anything and everything for her people's safety and freedom. He pleaded silently: Make the promise, Maric, and keep that promise.

The young prince stepped forward, placing a hand on the elf's shoulder. Loghain could tell that Adaia fought against her natural instinct to brush the contact off and he applauded her restraint. "I make this promise, Adaia of Clan Mahariel," Maric pledged, his free hand to his heart. "Once the throne of Fereldan is secure, the elves of Fereldan - both Dalish and otherwise - shall be free and equal citizens, with the same rights and privileges, as well as the same obligations, as any freeborn Fereldan." He bowed his head solemnly. "This I so pledge and swear."

Loghain felt Rowan move to his side, and, with a quick look to her face, saw that she approved of Maric's pledge. He turned back to the elf, watching as she scrutinized the prince's face, searching for any deceit. Her eyes, normally so stormy and unfriendly, cleared and brightened, revealing the clear gray-blue of peace and calm. Loghain preferred her eyes this way; they seemed as though they would allow her to see more clearly.

"Adaia," he began, cutting himself off from the memory, but she cut him off with a nasty snarl.

"Fine," she spat out, turning away. "This is the last time, Loghain. I never want to see you, the Idiot or any agent of yours on my doorstep again." With those parting words, she left, leaving Loghain feeling bereft and somewhat cold as he pondered her departing words.


	3. Chapter 3

Duncan glanced nervously over at the elven man. Cyrion had been a polite and respectful host, especially in light of his wife simply offering the warden a glare of stormy eyes and then stomped out of the house without a word. The artisan had given out a heavy, knowing sigh and a soft shake of his head before offering the young man some refreshment and a seat. Duncan, trying to be as polite a guest as possible, accepted the offer of tea, and sat down in a chair near the cradle. The cooling tea was quite good and of a quality he was surprised to find in the Alienage. His eyes skimmed over the modest furnishings of the home he sat within. Good quality, but simple. Cyrion obviously provided well for his growing family.

The elven boy, Soris, had finished his meal and was now staring at the young human in their midst. Duncan offered a small smile, which Soris returned easily. The baby in the cradle cooed gently, and the young boy immediately went to her side, cooing back at his young cousin. Leaning over in his seat, the young warden watched as the red-haired boy waggled a long finger in the tiny babe's angelic face. Recalling another baby, Duncan leaned over, gently touching the blond curls that encircled the child's beautiful face. Soris grinned up at the human, obviously proud of the baby as though he was the father instead of cousin.

As he watched, the young babe opened her eyes, staring at him with impossibly blue orbs. Enchanted, he moved closer, letting the child take hold of his forefinger. Cyrion had re-entered the room, watching the young man coo and awe over the elven baby.

"She's beautiful," Duncan whispered, his eyes still upon her little face.

Beaming with pride, Cyrion stepped closer, gazing that the small bundle. "Indeed she is," he said quietly, smiling as the child's eyes fixed upon his familiar face. "She's our little miracle."

Duncan looked up, a brow raised in question. Cyrion smiled. "The winter was difficult for the Alienage," the craftsman said as he knelt by the cradle, brushing his hands over the soft curls of his daughter. "The pregnancy difficult as well. And, when she was born…" his voice caught here, the same fear of voicing what could have been coming alive once again in his breast. He pushed that foolishness aside. "She was so small, the birth itself so difficult. And she was very early." He frowned slightly, thinking of how difficult it had been for Adaia to become pregnant, thinking of the other children that had never even had a chance at their first breath upon birth. Dark eyes twinkling, he rose, smiling down at his little miracle. "But, she has grown strong and though she will never be of a size, she will live and flourish." He looked over at the human. "And for that we have the Maker and Creators to thank."

"Your wife is Dalish," it was a statement of fact, not a question. And Cyrion picked up on that and nodded his head. "How, then, did you and she meet?" Duncan was curious.

A knowing grin crossed the elven man's face. "Ah," he hummed, "that is a story that is Adaia's own, and I shan't be the one telling it."

"Oh?" Duncan quipped as he rose to his feet and relinquished his spot to Soris.

"Indeed, young one," Cyrion teased as he stepped to the dining table and took a seat, indicating one for the warden. Adaia apparently would be a while longer in returning. "You only have to deal with her for as long as either she will allow or until what mission it is you need her assistance with is concluded. I, on the other hand, must live with the woman."

"She has a temper, I take it?" Duncan pressed, chuckling at the look the older man gave him.

"Fiery is not nearly strong enough a word, I fear," Cyrion chuckled. "My wife's temper can make fires cold."

"You haven't asked about this mission we need her assistance with?"

Cyrion shook his head. "And I won't, until Adaia tells me what it is." He cocked his head to the side. "Adaia is not one for keeping secrets, especially from her family and people."

"Her people are very important to her, eh?" Duncan asked as he picked up his tea cup, the tea now cold but still palatable. .

"None more so other than her family," Cyrion advised, putting his cup down to stare at the young man. "She would let all of Fereldan burn if need be, so long as her people escaped unscathed."

Suddenly serious, the young Grey Warden said, "I heard rumors that Adaia served in the rebellion."

Cyrion paused, studying the young man before him. A knowing smirk crossed his well formed face. "At one time, Fereldan was important to Adaia, that much is true. But, times have changed, and with that so, too, has her opinion. She remained to help out the elves of Fereldan, and because of her duty and devotion she is well loved here in the Alienage. Outside these walls…" the elf shrugged, taking a sip from his cup. "I don't think she truly even cares."

Staring down into the cup in his hand, his eyes unfocused, Duncan had to wonder why anyone would think that the Dalish woman would assist in something that would more than likely only affect the non-elven population of Fereldan. Sighing, he brought the cup to his lips, feeling as though he would fail before his mission had fully begun.

oOo

She stalked through the streets of the shemlen city she had bonded herself to. Bonded through her own weakness of having fallen in love with a flat ear, she scowled to herself, feeling none of the venom that the words would have elicited had they been spoken aloud. She did not, truly, regret remaining behind after the last of her hunting party had returned to their clan. She had never regretted falling in love with the kind, gentle soul that was Cyrion Tabris. Her only true regret had been in remaining in Denerim rather than trying to convince her beloved to leave the Creators' awful taint that was the city filled with human refuse and elves who had forgotten who they were.

Had they done this, she would have been none the wiser of Maric's continual betrayal. Had she left, Loghain would never have been put into the position of further betraying her. She paused in her steps, glancing back toward the noble district, back toward the palace and the offices of her friend. She sighed heavily, turning fully back, and began pacing back toward the district she had just (thankfully) left.

She knew she had had no right - no true call - to speak to Loghain as she had. He had always been a true friend. He and Rowan. Rowan was the female friend she had needed; Loghain a human soul so much like her own. During the rebellion, the pair of them would drive the normally jovial and optimistic (foolishly so) Maric to distraction, while Rowan would merely shake her head, making certain that healing poultices were on hand should the pair ever get into a heated 'discussion'. She shook her head. Had Loghain been born elf, then he would have been the perfect living soul. His very humanity had blinded his being, made it difficult for him to see beyond his country to anything that truly was important.

Adaia paused, her eyes trained forward, back the way she came. She fully intended to apologize to Loghain. But not now. Her words, as harsh as they had been, were still honest, still needed to be said. After all these years, someone within that damnable fortress needed to know that the promise had been broken, and she was no longer willing to overlook that fact.

She turned around yet again, resuming her walk back to her home, back to where the young Warden awaited her. Upon her return, she determined, she would apologize to Loghain. Perhaps that bow he had always been eyeing would be sufficient apology.

oOo

Duncan had stepped outside, standing before the doorway that led into the Tabris household. Soris had gone to take a nap while Cyrion watched over his small baby. The young warden glanced back at the door, feeling something he had never felt before: envy.

He recalled his own miserable childhood, and had thought that he would never miss the closeness of family as he had not know it for most of his life. However, speaking with Cyrion, watching as his nephew hovered over the babe, listening to the love that was clear in Cyrion's voice when he spoke of his wife, his child, when he spoke to his nephew, make the man realize he did, indeed, miss such things.

And he was planning on trying to convince a woman to leave behind her loved ones, for no obvious benefit to herself or her own. He shook his dark head, admitting defeat in a way he had never done before.

Not since before he met Genevieve and been forcefully inducted into the wardens.

There was a light greeting ahead, and he lifted his head, watching as the tall, determined figure of the Dalish woman walked into view. Her steps seemed less angry than they had been when she had left, but no less determined, and the young warden took that as a good sign.

He watched as she paused, tilting her sunny blond head to scrutinize the young human who stood mere yards away. Duncan noticed the slight tilt of her lips, recognizing the grin she had given him more than a year before when he had first spied her in the market district. With the anger erased from her features, she was a truly striking woman, and he was reminded, yet again, just how beautiful she was.

Adaia shook her head, and resumed her determined pace to her home. She stopped before him, gazing at him square in the eyes, as she stood as tall as he. Duncan reminded himself not to appear nervous, for the Dalish warrior was obviously assessing him, taking his measure. His feet, however, wanted to shuffle nervously, but he managed to keep them as under control as he did his steady seeming gaze.

The grin widened slightly, and Adaia nodded her head. "I thought I recognized you," she murmured quietly, taking the young man by surprise. He met her smile with a smirk of his own.

"You were obviously purchasing the cloth for the babe," he remarked, still grinning at the woman.

A blond brow quirked upwards. Then she snorted indelicately. "I understand that you have the need for a Dalish hunter who knows both the Forests and Wilds."

He nodded, watching her excessively expressive features work themselves into a calm mask. Her gaze remained steady and searching. Then, with a nod, she pushed past him, placing her hand to the knob of the door.

"We leave at first light," she instructed, turning the knob to take her leave. "Meet me here." With those final instructions, she entered her home, closing the door softly behind her.

Relief washed over the Warden as he stared at the closed door for a moment or two before walking toward the gate exiting the Alienage. Aldrich would be very pleased.

Duncan paused, glancing back at the door, a sudden worry crossing his mind.

Or be very, very confused why it was so easy to convince the taciturn elf to assist them.

He resumed his walk, shrugging his shoulders. At least she agreed.


	4. Chapter 4

Her steely eyes settled upon the figure of the young man, her hard gaze sweeping up the height of him. He seemed nervous, but she gathered that was to be expected. She, after all, had not been as welcoming or affable a traveling companion as the young warden perhaps had wanted.

Or, deserved.

She watched as he valiantly stepped into the very unfamiliar terrain of the ancient Forest, his dark eyes searching out the shadows of the trees, taking in every sight, alert to any noise. He walked with careful footsteps, carefully avoiding leaving any noticeable trace of his passage, his footfalls silent. She gave him a brief, acknowledging nod before turning away.

She let out a sharp sigh, turning her gaze back to the Forest. She had not set foot into the Brecilian Forest since the Rebellion, and it now felt so strange and alien to her. No, it was not the Forest that felt different, she realized as she paced further into the northern most border of the great, ancient wood. It was her. Her life amongst the shemlen and flat ears had irreparably changed her. Dalish she had been born, a Hunter second to none during her youth; sister of her tribe's Keeper and leader of their Hunters, now she was merely another flat ear, traversing the ancient ways, seeking answers.

On behalf of the shems.

Another sigh escaped her lips. She turned to Duncan, who was watching the surrounding forest with barely concealed ill-ease.

"Carefully, Warden," she warned, a slight smirk playing across her full lips. "It is said that the very trees of the Brecilian Forest can reach out and snatch the unwary traveler."

His eyes widened, going directly to the nearby trees, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. Duncan then risked a glance over at the smirking elven woman. The young Warden obviously could not tell if she was serious or not, and so decided to rely upon prudence. He choose to believe her and so stepped closer to the elven warrior.

Chuckling, Adaia clutched her curved longbow in a strong hand, and led the human deeper into the forest.

"You have not explained fully why you needed my assistance," she prompted the young man, more to keep his mind active and alert than for any real information. In her experience, if someone was overly nervous, they were less alert and more jumpy, making better targets. And therefore making their companions better targets. She knew this from her own experiences. Traveling with Maric had been enough to fray her nerves for a lifetime. She had no desire to repeat the experience.

Duncan took a deep breath, turning his attention to the lovely yet fiery Dalish woman. He had already experienced a degree of her temper, and knew that he was about to set himself up for another taste. "It's a Grey Warden matter," he said, giving her a simple shrug of his shoulders, trying to appear relaxed while inside his stomach roiled. He took note of the narrowing of her eyes and added hastily. "There are things…secrets that the Wardens can't share to those outside of the Order."

"And yet you feel no compulsion against risking the lives of those outside the Order for your own benefit?" she snarled, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a sneer.

Defeated, his shoulders slumped slightly. "All I can truly tell you is that we are seeking out an apostate," he noticed her eyes narrow slightly. "Well, technically, he's a Warden. But, he left the compound, against orders, and was last known to be making his way through the Forest and then on his way to the Wilds."

"Any idea why?" she prompted, twisting slightly to avoid an overhanging branch.

Duncan took a deep breath. "That's actually where the 'secret' part comes in." He held his hands up apologetically, his face crestfallen and concerned.

Duncan watched as the Dalish warrior adjusted her armor. The glance she threw him spoke of her displeasure with being here, without any true answer to her questions. However, the young warden knew a strange sense of duty obviously kept her there and true to her word to help him - the Wardens.

"You are fortunate that Loghain sent you to me, effectively requesting that I assist you," she explained tersely. "Had it been anyone else, I would have laughed in his face."

"Even had the king himself asked?" Duncan had to ask, curious.

She scoffed, slinging her bow over her shoulder, adjusting her quiver on her back, setting the angle so that she could grasp an arrow quickly and efficiently while in battle. "Had Maric deigned to speak any word to me," she replied, barely concealed anger in her voice, "I would have shoved it back down his throat."

He was surprised by her vehemence. "I take it you and Maric do not get along?"

"Phwt!" she turned, eying the dark human, "Maric would have you believe we are old friends. However, he is a fool," she started walking off, her long legs carrying her away from the Warden. Grimacing, he hurried to keep pace. "Had he not had Rowan and Loghain by his side, and myself as well, the whimpering idiot would have died long ago." She cast a sidelong glance at her companion. "Sometimes I wonder if that would not have been for the best."

"You are aware that I am friend of Maric's, aren't you?" he asked, watching her reaction.

She shrugged, undeterred in expressing her opinion. "So? Perhaps as a human, that means any promises he grants to you are kept. However," she paused, frowning, allowing the anger she had kept all these years to resurface. "if you are less in their eyes," she looked directly into his dark eyes, her steely orbs sad. "then they are merely words."

With that, she continued on, the conversation obviously at an end.


	5. Chapter 5

"Behind you!" Adaia shouted to her companion as she dropped her bow, pulling her daggers free from their sheaths. She spun around, not waiting to see if the young human who accompanied her heard the warning, as she parried against the arm-like branches that descended upon her from the wild sylvan she battled.

Cursing, Duncan pulled his sword and dagger free, jumping back slightly to avoid the swooping branches of the animated tree that ambushed him. Fear coursed through him as he recalled Adaia's warning that the very trees within the Brecilian Forest came to life, attacking those who trespassed its borders. He had not believed her, thinking that the Dalish huntress sought only to frighten an inexperienced shemlen. As he swiped his sword at the branch, severing it, he vowed to never discount anything the Dalish woman ever told him.

Even if she said that Andraste came back, reincarnated as a dragon, he would believe her wholeheartedly until evidence proved otherwise.

"We need fire!" Adaia shouted as she sidestepped a lunge by the possessed tree, her blades crossing before her, then parting in a sweeping motion, connecting solidly with the branch that reached for her, cutting it from the rest of the creature. Ducking down, the elf rose directly in front of the trunk, driving both blades deeply into the heavy bark.

"Sorry!" Duncan called back, dodging his own foe's attacks. Twisting about, his blades slashed open air. "Fresh out!"

Snarling, the elven warrior viciously cut deeper into the sylvan, keeping well away from its arms, which were not nearly flexible enough to reach closer to its main body to stop the assaults from the elf and her sharp blades. She risked a glance toward the young warden, heartened as she saw him dance away from the sylvan rather than trying to further engage the creature. Smart boy, she thought as she turned her attention back to her own foe. Blades continued to chop at the trunk, having cut through the bark and now splintered the soft, rotten wood beneath. With one, swift motion, she resheathed one dagger, reaching back and pulling an arrow free of her quiver. Speaking ancient words of the Elvhenan, the arrow tip burst into flame. Then, with a quick, sure thrust, she embedded the arrow into the splintered opening in the wild sylvan's trunk. Ducking down, she rolled free from the tree, picking up her bow as she moved from the creature. The dry wood beneath the softer bark burst into flames and the elf turned, leaving it to burn as she rose to her feet at Duncan's side.

"You had fire?" the young man asked, breathless, as he watched the demon possessed tree burn, groaning out its pain as it slumped to the forest floor. Adaia shrugged, not answering him vocally as she pulled her bow up, nocking a flame arrow to the sight.

"You need to open up weaknesses in the bark," she instructed the man as she let loose an arrow, sending it flying into the leafy hallo. After shooting the elf an incredulous look, he did the only thing he could. Raising his blades, taking a deep breath (and sending the Maker a quick prayer that his companion was not nearly as mad as she seemed), he ducked past the sweeping branches, sidestepping the arcing wood, to hack away at the thick trunk of the sylvan.

Arrow after arrow sped in, igniting the leaves of the tree's canopy. Bark flew from the warden's swings, and he thanked the Maker that the creature was unable to bend its branchy arms inward to grasp at him. The thing did, however, stomp forward, causing him to stumble back, once knocking him from his feet and to his back. He heard Adaia cry out something in her people's language, and an arrow embedded itself into the arm that reached down to grasp the young man, the flames dancing upwards, seeking openings in the tough bark. Crab walking backwards, Duncan disengaged himself from the creature, putting as much distance between himself and it as he could. He pushed himself to his feet, dismay flooded his heart as he found himself immobile in a cage of wood, bark and leaf.

A near maniacal chuckle came from Adaia, and he managed to twist his head around enough to watch as the elf continued to send forth a steady stream of blazing arrows. Amazingly, the sylvan did not try to retaliate or dodge any of the missiles, so intent upon keeping him imprisoned as it was. Soon, the creature was blazing, sending forth gusts of flame into the air. Adaia had abandoned her bow and was now hacking away at Duncan's prison, intent upon freeing him before the flames could reach him.

With a fierce yank, she yanked the young man free, pulling him along with her away from the burning sylvan. Breathing hard, glaring at the burning wooden corpses, the pair stood side by side as their foes burned.

Duncan began to suspect that their journey through the Forest to the Wilds would not be quite as uneventful as he had initially hoped.

oOo

"Doesn't it make sense to contact one of the tribes that wander the Forest?" Duncan asked of his companion as they sat for that evening's meal of rabbit and wild roots.

Adaia glanced over at her companion, noisily licking the grease from her fingertips. "Only if you deem to tell me what we are looking for," she advised him as she reached toward the fire to pull meat free of the spitted rabbit.

Duncan frowned; they had been down this road several times since leaving Denerim. He had to admire the elf's persistence. With a shrug, he replied, "You don't think telling them that we hunt an apostate will be enough?"

Snorting, she chewed her food before responding. "Hardly. Knowing how many of my people feel for your Chantry, they more than likely would impede any of our efforts to locate a missing 'apostate'."

Surprised, he looked over at his companion. "Truly?" He held a rabbit leg in his hand. "They would not consider the possibility of a maleficarum running around loose as dangerous to them?"

"Not very likely." She smirked. "The mages of the Dalish know magic your shem Circle imprisoned mages could not even dream of. What is one blood mage compared to the might of ancient Elvhenan?" She shrugged as she brought her food back to her lips. "More than likely, they would take the apostate in, just to…thumb their noses at the Chantry."

"Your people really hate the Chantry, don't they?"

Her eyes darkened to that steel gray Duncan had seen far too much for his liking. "It is your Chantry that called upon its Exalted March upon my people. Destroying the promise made by its very own Prophet." She lowered her hands, her eyes fixing firmly upon Duncan's face. "I remember parties of hunters going out to hunt Templars and Priests that dared wander too close to the Tribes." the smile she cast to Duncan was chilling, and he wondered if she had participated in those 'hunts'. "Trust me," she lowered her eyes back to her food. "any opportunity to cause harm to your fool priests is considered an occasion for celebration."

Sighing, Duncan could only shake his dark head as he resumed his meal. After several moments, he said, "We'll just tell them that we're looking for a runaway human. Surely, they won't care about that?"

A scowl formed upon Adaia's face, and Duncan knew he had her there. Although he was fully aware that he would have to, eventually, tell her the full truth behind their mission, he wanted to wait until they were too far into it. He feared that she would simply up and leave him, and he had no illusions of his ability to find his way through the Forest or the Wilds on his own.

He only hoped that Adaia would not loose patience too soon.


	6. Chapter 6

They had been traveling for little over a week, trekking deeper into the heart of the Brecilian Forest. Adaia's stance had relaxed immensely the deeper into the wild woods they went, and Duncan found himself rather grateful for it. Although some of her hostility toward him had eased somewhat, there were still flashes of irritation and anger, and the warden, at times, found himself fearing for his safety.

He watched as Adaia stepped from what could only be called a path by the most generous, walking up to the ancient trees that crowded the forest. Pausing, he watched as she raised a hand, gently tracing over the gnarled bark. With a glance back, she called the young human to her side, a slight smile upon her face. Unable to resist that smile, Duncan stepped closer, watching as her long fingers continued to trace their pattern upon the hard bark.

"Do you see this?" she asked quietly, her fingers pausing in their path, tapping along a slight scar upon the wood.

Frowning, Duncan stepped nearer, fully aware of the closeness of the Dalish woman. When she was like this - friendly, accommodating - he found it difficult to ignore just how lovely a woman she was.

Best not think like that, he chided himself. Instead, he followed her finger's path. "A scar?" he asked, his brow furrowed. The scar appeared quite old.

"A scar, yes," Adaia said softly, her eyes bright and blue. "A mark, for those who know what to look for. It appears quite old, yes?" She turned her gaze to the young man, who looked over and nodded slightly. "'Tisn't so, however. It is mere weeks in age. Telling others that a Dalish clan resides within the forest."

She straightened, and it was then that Duncan noticed the change in her demeanor even more pronouncedly. She was excited, her eyes glancing to the west, an anxiety that almost caused her to bounce upon the balls of her feet. Her smile widened as she glanced over at the young warden. "My clan has returned to the forest." She advised him, letting him in on her excitement.

"Do you think they will assist us?" he asked cautiously, thankful that they may well meet with a clan of Dalish that would be accommodating.

Nodding, she stepped from the tree, turning their path westerly. "They are the more…ah, progressive of the Dalish. My brother, their keeper, always spoke about our being able to survive should we become more a part of the world rather than apart from it. That the Dalish need to take a greater responsibility for what happens in the world around us than we do." She shrugged. "'Twas by his words that I and my hunters had entered the forest the eve I saved Maric's life."

Duncan held in a snort. Adaia had actually called the king by his name, the first time she had done so without any heat or venom in her voice. He decided not to bring attention to that fact.

Her good mood was too good an occasion to destroy.

oOo

"You do understand you will need to be honest and forthright with my clan," Adaia stated matter-of-factly as they continued through the forest, heading westerly in search of Clan Mahariel. Duncan raised a dark brow, frowning slightly. He could not detect any ire or irritation in the Dalish woman's voice, only a calm confidence that he took to mean that she would - finally - get the full truth from him. He merely shrugged in answer, not entirely certain what he was expected to say to the clan, but knowing that he could not truly tell them the truth.

By doing so, too many Grey Warden secrets could be revealed.

By doing so, too many errors in judgment on the Wardens' side would be revealed.

Either way, dangerous repercussions could ensue, and could well erode the Grey Wardens standing in Fereldan even further.

And Duncan truly, truly did not wish to return to Orlais. He had found he rather enjoyed Fereldan, and had yet to really be able to detect the odor of wet dog.

He glanced over at the elven woman, her strides confident, her back straight. Eyes wandered down her trim form to where her midriff was revealed in the two piece Dalish armor she wore. Despite years away from the battlefield and motherhood, her body was well muscled, tone and flexible. Not just her midriff but the generous expanse of leg and arm atoned for that fact that, despite the continued restrictions upon the elves in Fereldan, she continued her weapons training. He shook his head, trying to imagine an entire clan of beautiful elven women thusly attired. While the Chantry may well call the Dalish barbaric heathens, he found their armaments quite…fetching.

He caught her eye on him, and had the grace to flush slightly at her scrutiny. A straight blond brow quirked up in an amused gesture and, with a quirky twitch of her generous mouth, she turned, continuing to led him through the forest, toward her clan.

oOo

"Aneth ara, Lethallan," came the greeting as a female Dalish hunter stepped lightly from the surrounding shadows. Crossing her arms before her chest, Adaia bowed deeply, glancing at Duncan. Taking the hint, he mimicked her posture as Adaia straightened and greeted the huntress.

The hunter who greeted them was young, with dark tattoos covering most of her delicately featured face. Adaia stepped nearer the other woman, and the two conversed quietly as Duncan stood, still, uncertain as to what he should do. Deciding to ere on the side of caution, he remained standing until Adaia turned, smiling, to motion the young human by her side.

He did not miss the openly curious, yet surprisingly non-hostile expression upon the younger female's face. Taking that as a good sign, the young Warden followed the women as they led him toward their clan's encampment.

Duncan's fantasy of beautiful half-clad elven women was somewhat diminished as he viewed the elves about the camp. Certainly, many of the warrior women were clad similarly to Adaia, however, many more wore simple dresses, tunics and britches about their slender frames. Suppressing his disappointment, the young warden hurried after Adaia and their guide.

For her part, Adaia could feel the years of oppression and ill ease lift from her shoulders as she passed and was greeted by the denizens of the Dalish camp. Aravels were placed around the camp's perimeter, and a temporary pen housed the clan's halla in a field of alfalfa and rye. She lifted her eyes, skimming over the figures - many that were familiar to her and who turned, watching their wayward sister as she made her progress through the camp. One woman, little older than Adaia herself, broke apart from the group she had been conversing with, running her hands over her skirt as she hurried toward the hunter.

"Adaia?" the other woman asked as she approached, her kind, lovely face breaking out in a grin.

"Ashalle?" Adaia quipped, turning to embrace the smaller woman. Their guide paused, smiling at the reunion as Duncan approached and stood, uncomfortable, as the pair of women embraced tightly to one another. Finally, Adaia broke the contact, keeping her hands on the smaller woman's shoulders.

"Ashalle! It is wonderful to see you again!" Adaia was genuinely pleased to be reunited with a friend, and Duncan could not help but grin at the near girlish delight that crossed her normally stern features.

"You have been from us too long, my friend," Ashalle replied, her hands grasping Adaia's upper arms, giving the firm muscle a squeeze. "Long had we believed you dead when you had not returned with the other hunters after the shem's war was completed."

Smiling, nodding, Adaia answered, "I know, sister. I…well," she shrugged, "it is a long story, one I look forward to speaking with you about. However, for now, I need to see my brother…."

Ashalle's face fell, and the guide shifted her feet uncomfortably. Other Dalish passing by cast sympathetic glances to the returning warrior, some shaking their heads sadly, others merely passing by.

Adaia knew something was amiss. "What has happened?" she asked quietly, fearfully as the smile fell from her childhood friend's face.

Shaking her head, Ashalle replied, "Come. I will take you to Marethari," she nodded to the young guide, bidding her to leave. With a thankful nod of her head, the young huntress hurried away, obviously to deliver word that one of their own had returned and who it was that had returned.

The huntress's face screwed up in a confused expression. "Why am I to meet with Vidor's First?" she asked as she glanced back to Duncan to be certain she had not lost him. The young human offered her a bemused smile as he followed behind, trying to keep a distance.

"Adaia," Ashalle said, shaking her head. "I…when we reach Marethari, we will both advise you what has transpired."

Her frown deepening, Adaia quietly followed her friend, her eyes searching the figures for the small form of her brother's apprentice. She spotted Marethari's familiar white-blond head, bent down to listen to the words a child spoke to her. With a nod and a pat to the child's dark head, the mage lifted her eyes, scanning the surrounding area, until her blue-green eyes settled upon Adaia's familiar features.

The hunter stopped, staring at the other woman, taking note of the robes of office she wore.

The robes of a Keeper.

Her heart skipped, and she nearly choked as a sob threatened to make its presence known. Urgency caused her legs to carry her, swiftly, passed a startled Ashalle, to stand before the woman who was now, apparently, Keeper of her brother's clan.

"Marethari?"

The other woman, within a few years of Adaia's age, turned sad eyes to the long absent hunter. Duncan, feeling out of place and very much an intruder, stopped beside Ashalle, who stood, watching as Marethari wrapped her arms around the much larger hunter. That feeling of discomfort grew as he watched the stoic, strong woman he had been traveling with these past weeks allow a sob to escape her throat, and then bury her face into the other woman's neck, great sobs of sorrow bursting through.

Ashalle offered a sympathetic glance to the young human in their midst, and then left his side to embrace the other two women, murmuring words into Adaia's ear.


	7. Chapter 7

"He is beautiful," Adaia whispered as they watched the fledgling totter about, his dark eyes narrowing as he carefully watched the butterfly that swept past his nose, eliciting a tiny giggle. The breeze ruffled his unruly red hair, tickling it along the tips of his pointed ears and delicate chin.

"He looks so much like his father," Ashalle murmured back, pride evident in her voice as they watched the small child scamper about upon unsteady legs, testing his boundaries without a backward glance.

Reluctantly, Adaia turned her eyes from her young nephew, scouring the camp for the young human that had accompanied her thus far. She spied Duncan not far off, enjoying a meal of venison and potatoes, speaking with a young hunter not afraid to sit with a human.

She noticed the suspicious glances cast to the young man, and a slight frown crossed her face. Ashalle noticed the look and shrugged her shoulders. "Since the attack upon Vidor and Aalist, our clan has become more wary of outsiders."

Adaia frowned at that. Her own prejudice against the humans had never been widely shared by her people, even among the hunters she had commanded when she was younger. That was especially true when her brother had led them as the clan's Keeper.

Vidor had openly sought and advocated for the People to become more a part of their world. To do more than just try to recreate and preserve their past, but strive forward in a world that would never see the recreation of their once immense empire. For some reason, knowing that their people, after having lost their Keeper - their leader - at the hands of humans and their pet elves, now shared her own near xenophobic views did not settle well within her heart.

Her eyes shifted once more to Duncan, who was smiling and laughing with the young elf, apparently oblivious to the glares shot his way. A small smile found its way upon her face, and she found herself wondering at that. She watched as Duncan moved a little closer to the hunter - a young female with bright red hair and a wide smile - and shook her head as the girl moved slightly away from the too bold human. The young man smiled congenially, apparently apologizing to the girl, who merely grinned in return.

Adaia further surprised herself with the realization that she could well begin to like this human, if he proved more forthcoming than he had to this point.

She thought of those other humans she could honestly call friends - Loghain, Rowan, even Maric - and the many elves within the Alienage of Denerim. She wondered when the change of her views had occurred.

With a shake of her head, she turned once again to her friend, the smallest of smiles upon her lips.

"Vidor would be most unhappy by this occurrence," the hunter said, and Ashalle nodded her head.

"Indeed he would be," the other woman said, turning her gaze once more to Adaia's nephew, a sad, knowing smile upon her lips. "And even more so should he learn the reason had to do with him."

They sat in silence for a moment, allowing that sad, ironic thought to settle. Not wishing to allow the silence to take hold, Adaia lifted her face to the sunshine, then returned her attention to her childhood friend.

"What is to become of Theron?" she asked, watching as her nephew stumbled to his knees, but did not issue a cry of pain or protest.

"Unless you wish to take over his fosterage, I shall continue to raise him as my own," Ashalle immediately replied, although Adaia could detect concern in her friend's voice.

Her blond head tilted to the side, her eyes raised as she watched the youngling continued to stumble about, his bravery evident with each questing step he took further from the adults. How she would love to take her nephew - her last blood tie to the clan, to her brother - with her, to raise alongside Adela. But, to take the child from the clan, to subjugate him to what the shemlen enslaved elves had to endure on a daily basis…would be most unfair to a child of the Dales. He was born to freedom, and thus she would let him remain so.

It was bad enough that she had not the courage to leave Cyrion and take Adela to raise her free from human influence. Free of the subjugation the elves within the shemlen alienages suffered.

Turning to her watchful friend, Adaia frowned, shaking her head. "I cannot take him away from the Clan, away from you, my friend," she said in a firm voice. "As much as I would love to have my brother's son with me, that would be the most selfish act I could ever commit." Her eyes, now a soft blue, fixed once more upon Theron, who now toddled toward the pair, his dark eyes bright as they fixed upon Adaia. "I could trust him to no other."

Adaia did not fail to notice that Ashalle released a relieved breath, and the hunter smiled, reaching out as Theron neared, happily accepting her embrace.

"He knows you are his blood," Ashalle softly said, running a gentle hand along the toddler's back as Theron hugged his aunt, placing a small kiss upon her cheek.

Smirking, Adaia looked into her friend's soft gaze, savoring the affection from her brother's son. "Of course he does," she said proudly, rising and then placing the boy braced upon her hip. "He is a Mahariel."

oOo

The sky darkened from pale blue to a deeper gray, foretelling of the evening to come. Various campfires had been lighted, the smell of burning wood mingling with the tempting fragrances of cooking meat. Fires crackled, sending tiny volleys of sparks upwards, adding to the overall peaceful feel of the Dalish camp. Various low whooping sounds came from the pens that contained the elves' steeds - majestic white, deer like creatures called halla.

It was at times like this that Duncan wished he could just stay, and not be a Grey Warden, destined for the dark places he had learned early in his tenure to detest. To wander the lands with these free elves, as free as he had ever been.

It was with a heavy sigh of resignation he turned, watching as Adaia and Marethari made their approach to his position.

Now was the time to advise the Dalish of what it was he sought. Now was the time to finally answer many of Adaia's questions regarding their mission.

Maker, how he wished the First Warden had given him more information. He felt rather like a hound, just pointed in a direction and told to go fetch.

It was enough to drive him crazy, and he was used to the obliqueness of the wardens.

His hand patted the pouch hanging from one of his belts, a frown creasing his dark face as he began to walk toward the approaching women.

oOo

The trio stood within the aravel of the Keeper, Adaia leaned against one of the wooden reinforcements as Marethari pulled from a corner a delicate seeming chair, indicating that Duncan should take the seat. The young man glanced over to where Adaia stood, and then shook his head, indicated that the Keeper herself should take the sole chair in the tiny living space. Turquoise eyes searched the young human's face for a moment before, with a nod, settled herself onto the seat.

Okay, now or never…Duncan reached into the pouch at his hip, pulling free several pieces of parchment. Bending over the table that had been pulled up from the wall, braced to the floor with a single wooden leg, the warden spread out one sheet of the parchment.

Adaia abandoned her spot against the support as Marethari bent in her chair, both women seeking a better view of the parchment the man had spread out before them.

Tilting her head, the hunter cocked an eyebrow at the young human, who met her questioning gaze with a little more frankness.

Upon the parchment had been rendered in color the likeness of a human male.

The artist obviously knew this man, so detailed was the depiction, detailing the man down to the scars that criss-crossed one cheek, the slight crinkles at the eyes and around the mouth, and the heavier lid of his right eye.

Red-gold hair hung loose to broad shoulders, braided at the front in twin braids to keep the strands from flying into eyes the color of obsidian. The long narrow face, with square jaw, and a long, aristocratic nose over a mouth with an eternal smirk bespoke of a man with a wry sense of humor. He was drawn with broad shoulders, tapering down to slim hips, and dressed in a simple tunic and trousers.

Marethari stared at the picture, a thoughtful expression upon her face, as Adaia looked up at Duncan. "This is your apostate?" she asked, frowning slightly.

The young man met her gaze steadily, nodding his dark head. "His name is Rikhard. He was originally from Orlais, as I understand it." He frowned as he turned his gaze back to the picture.

Staring at the picture, Marethari spoke, almost as though speaking to herself, so quiet were her words. "This man has elven blood." She looked up, gauging the warden's reaction to her words.

As suspected, his expression registered surprise. "How can you tell?" he asked as his gaze went to the Keeper, then back to the parchment.

The Keeper shrugged her lithe shoulders. "You can see it in the face," a small, sad smile crossed her lips, turning the intricate tattoo upon her cheeks and around her lips to twist slightly with the movement. "He appears human, as all who are the result of an elven and human union will. However, there are always ways to tell, if one knew what to look for," her blue-green eyes raised. "The facial structure is more delicate, more defined. There is a look to the eyes, perhaps even the way one would stand that betrays the heritage." She shrugged again, falling silent in her further study of the depiction.

Confusion furrowed his brow, but words failed him as Adaia interrupted.

"Why are the Wardens hunting him?" Adaia prompted, hoping for an answer - any answer - beyond a man's face and his name.

Taking a deep breath, Duncan responded, "He stole something from the fortress at Weisshaupt." He lifted his gaze, staring at the ceiling of the aravel. He had not noticed until now the scene - a white stag racing through a dense forest, pursued closely by black wolves.

"So, an apostate and a thief," Adaia mused, frowning slightly. "Can you tell us what he stole?"

Duncan lowered his eyes from the scene above, fixing his gaze first upon Marethari, settling then on Adaia's strangely calm features.

Aldrich had wanted as much kept secret about the theft as possible. The young rogue, however, could not quite understand why, and, when he had questioned his superior, had received the most rudimentary of answers: that the Wardens were loathe to make a breach in their security known to any outside of the Order.

They were loathe to let many within their own Order aware of the theft.

Duncan thought that it was all a load of bunk.

He watched the hunter's face as her eyes scrutinized his features. She did not trust him, and the Warden could not fault the Dalish woman at all. He had been secretive, while still demanding her assistance in this matter. She had been forthcoming, even going so far as to show him one of the Dalish's secrets - that of trail marking - and still, he hesitated to share this information that would, in all likelihood, assist them in their search for the warden mage.

"What do you know of the Wardens?" He asked instead, watching as confusion momentarily flashed in her blue-gray eyes and her stern features settled into the scowling mask he had become all too familiar with.

"Little," she admitted, "I know that they battle the Blights, fight darkspawn and," her gaze turned into a glare, "are secretive to the extreme," she spat this last out, her scowl deepening.

The Grey Warden nodded, taking none of her vehemence to heart. "The Anderfels are traditionally the center of the Grey Warden hierarchy," he began, moving to lean against the table as he faced both women. The Keeper remained seated, her sharp eyes intent upon his face as he spoke. Adaia's body language relaxed somewhat as the warden began to give out some information.

"Weisshaupt Fortress is our headquarters, where the First Warden resides. That is also where the tombs of the four who defeated the Blights rest."

"I had heard of such things," Marethari put in, a thoughtful expression upon her tattooed features. "The tomb of Garahel, the elven warden who defeated the last Blight, lies there."

Nodding, Duncan swallowed past the nervous lump that swelled in his throat. "Yes, well, actually, it's interesting that you mention Garahel."

Blond brows rose at that, the women exchanging questioning glances. Shifting from one foot to the other, Duncan continued.

"Rikhard had been stationed at Weisshaupt," he shrugged, the leather of his jerkin creaking slightly. "He was one of the mages that tended the tombs of the Heroes."

"Tended the tombs?" Marethari asked, leaning forward in her chair, curious why a mage would need to tend to the resting places of the deceased wardens.

"Ah, yeah," Duncan replied, frowning slightly, a little ill at ease, "I don't really know why they are tended by mages, but they are." He shrugged, hoping that the Keeper believed him and did not think he was trying to deflect her questions and safeguard any Warden secrets.

He really did not know why mages tended the tombs, and had never been curious enough to ask.

Those eyes, so wise and all seeing, kinder than Adaia's but no less intense, studied his face for a moment. Seemingly satisfied, Marethari offered the young man a reassuring smile as she settled back into her chair.

The young warden stuttered, stumbling over his thoughts. He felt the desire to suddenly just blurt everything out, and he wondered, briefly, if the Dalish mage had cast a spell upon him. Yet, she merely sat there, unhurried, still, waiting him with all due patience to continue.

Even Adaia stood silent, waiting as he collected his thoughts to continue with his tale.

Taking in a deep breath, he continued. "Well, about three years ago, during one of Rikhard's shifts tending Garahel's tomb, he found an amulet," he began to shuffle through his parchments, finally pulling one free, and placed it upon the table next to the mage's portrait.

Drawn, in black and white, was an amulet, oblong in shape, with the raised likeness of a dagger. The point was down, the hilt - the shape of writhing dragons - upwards. Upon the pommel was a great lizard eye, open wide and unblinking. Etched along the slender blade were runes. To the side were larger views of the runes.

"This amulet," the warden pointed a long, dark finger, tapping the parchment briefly. "The eye was of ruby and emeralds, the rest of the amulet was wrought of red steel, dragon bone and silverite." He glanced up to see Marethari's eyes fixed upon the picture, studying the features of the blade, shifting to the enlarged depictions of the runes. "The runes themselves seemed to gleam with some inner light."

There was a hope in the young Warden's heart that the Dalish Keeper would recognize the blade and be able to tell him something of it.

That heart sank as a frown formed upon the mage's smooth face. She looked up, her eyes searching his. "Please continue, young Warden," she bade quietly.

Confused, Duncan continued. "That amulet had been placed upon Garahel's tomb, laying upon the pommel of the sword laid out upon the tomb, depicting the very blade he used to kill the archdemon, Andoral, at Ayesleigh. Rikhard brought it immediately to the First Warden, and he, in turn, assigned the senior mages to study it." Here he shrugged. "Apparently, they sensed a power from it, but none of them could identify the power nor the markings," he pointed to the runes, and Marethari's eyes lit with renewed interest. Adaia had taken a step to the table by now, and was studying the image closely. "Even our most senior mage could not identify even one of the runes etched along the blade."

"They are ancient Arcanum," Marethari muttered, reaching out with one hand to gently trace over the image of the runes. She raised her eyes, "and ancient Elvish."

Adaia's turned to her old friend, watching with weary eyes. "Can you read this, Marethari?" the hunter asked quietly, hope in her voice.

It was Marethari's sigh, however, that told the hunter and Warden more than her words that followed. "I am afraid not, Lethallan." She raised her eyes from the parchment, and Duncan was surprised to see tears therein. "The ancient language, from before Arlathan's time, has long been lost. While I can recognize the runes for what they are, I cannot hope to decipher them."

Deflated, Adaia looked back to the paper, aware of Duncan's move closer to her side.

"Please continue," the Keeper bade, turning her own eyes back to the parchment.

The young man had stepped nearer the Dalish hunter, bending over her shoulder slightly to take another look at the amulet drawn upon the parchment. She looked over her shoulder, moving aside slightly to allow him more room at the table. Aware he may have made the woman uncomfortable with his nearness, he prudently took a step back.

"The amulet remained in the care of the Warden mages for more than two years," the young man said. "But, almost a year ago, the amulet vanished from the vault. And Rikhard was no where to be found at the Fortress."

Here, Marethari rose from her seat, stepping to the Warden's side. "And you believe that this Rikhard has taken the amulet."

Nodding, he turned to face the smaller elven woman. "We know he has it. He was briefly apprehended in Jader, the amulet found on him. Somehow, he managed to not only escape from the Warden compound in Jader but also retrieved the amulet."

"Why do you believe he is heading here?" Adaia pressed, frowning at the human. "You have already admitted you do not know what the amulet represents."

Turning, Duncan met her steady gaze. "The mages at Weisshaupt have no idea what it is. But, apparently, while in the custody of the Wardens in Jader, Rikhard spoke a great deal about the amulet. He gave every indication that he was heading to the Wilds, that he had to go there." He shook his head. "The wardens also advised that Rikhard seems to have gone slightly mad."

"Ashe'bellanar," Marethari whispered, her eyes widening slightly. Blue gray eyes narrowed as Adaia shook her blond head.

"No, Marethari," the hunter warned, and Duncan's eyes shifted from one woman to another.

"She more than likely is involved in this, my friend," the Keeper said, turning her attention fully to her former master's sister.

"The Old Woman usually keeps to her own," the hunter reminded her old friend. "She seldom becomes involved…"

"Unless this is a matter of her own devising," the Keeper pointedly reminded Adaia, who fell silent, scowling at the other woman.

"Ah, who is Ashe'bellanar?" Duncan asked, hoping he pronounced the name correctly.

"You know her as Flemeth," Marethari schooled the young man. "To the Dalish, she is Ashe'bellanar, the Woman of Many Years."

"Maric swore up and down that he and Loghain had met her, during the rebellion," Adaia scoffed. "Loghain has remained strangely quiet about it, even to this day. I do not know whether to believe Maric or not."

"Why would he lie?" Duncan asked, annoyance creeping into his voice that the elf would suggest the king lied.

Shaking her head, she replied, "I do not believe he lied, but could well have been mistaken as to the identity of the woman." She shrugged. "You did not know the king in his youth. He was rather…impulsive, and, dare I say, gullible. I do believe he and Loghain were rescued by a hermit woman in the Wilds. I am doubtful, however, that the witch would have been so kind as to offer them assistance."

Nodding, Marethari added, "Ashe'bellanar is not known for her kindnesses."

Trying not to get caught up in another discussion, Duncan said, "Either way, Rikhard indicated he would be coming through the Brecilian Forest, and on to the Wilds," he cocked his head to the side slightly. "Have you seen anyone who looks like this? Or have you heard of his trespass from any others, whether from your clan or others?"

Aquamarine eyes fixed once more upon the portrait of the mage, studying it even more closely than before. There was a gentle shake of her head as she turned back to the Warden, "I have no seen such a one, nor has any of my hunters." She raised a hand against the protest Duncan was about to issue. "Had anyone seen a shemlen mage, it would have been reported directly to me. We are vigilant in our seclusion from shemlen."

Concern marred Adaia's face. "But, Marethari," the hunter said, taking the time to further confirm her fears, "I had thought Vidor had allowed for contact with outsiders?"

Sighing, the Keeper shook her head. "After the murder of your brother, and then Aalist's unfortunate death," the Keeper shook her head at the questioning look upon Adaia's face, indicating she would explain later, "I and the elders felt it best that we go back to the old ways of avoiding contacting with humans and their elves."

If the Keeper noticed the stiffening of Adaia's back, she made no indication. "We can ill afford to loose any others to our own…negligence." The Keeper then turned to Duncan. "You are fortunate, young one, that it was in Adaia's company that you happened upon our camp. Otherwise, I cannot say how safe you would have been."

Nodding absentmindedly, Duncan's eyes went back to the portrait of his fellow warden. "What would you recommend we do, Keeper?" he asked as he turned back to the mage.

Sighing as she settled once more into her chair, the mage could only shake her head. "I have no answers for you, Warden, at this time." She met his gaze, holding it steady with her own. "Give me a few days to research the runes." She leaned over to tap a long finger to the parchment with the amulet drawn upon it.

"Every bit of information you could provide to us would be most appreciated," the young man said with all sincerity. A glance at Adaia's face told him that she would also appreciate more time among her own people. "A few days one way or another could not make that much of a difference." Or so he hoped.


	8. Chapter 8

Marethari had spent most of the time Duncan and Adaia had been in camp tucked away in her aravel, surrounded by ancient and rare tomes, parchments and scrolls that the clan had gathered over the generations. She would emerge, blinking into the wane light of the numerous campfires, exhaustion clear upon her face, only at the day's final meal, offering what little she had managed to glean from her studies.

Unfortunately, it had not been much, and yet the Keeper was loathe to admit defeat so readily. And so she would emerge only for meals, taking her rest when necessary, as she continued with her research into the mysterious amulet and the runes marked thereupon.

Adaia had taken advantage of her time back amongst her people, reacquainting herself with many of the clan, spending time with her young nephew. She missed her own child, and found herself wondering how Cyrion was managing not only in the care of their young infant, but of Soris as well. Soris' mother, Dalia, was heavily pregnant and newly widowed, and the Dalish woman found herself wondering what had possessed her to take on this quest when her family needed her so at this time.

Many within the clan had welcomed their wayward hunter back with open arms. Others, however, treated her a bit more cautiously, some keeping their distance as they watched her from afar. Adaia had expected this; her absence from their clan had been extensive, and she had left them to not only fight in a war many deigned to be a shemlen matter, but had chosen to remain and bond with a flat-ear. The hunter accepted the distance and mild derision of her former clans mates stoically, although it still stung. No doubt her brother's murder had done much damage to the general mentality of the clan, and her return had only managed to reopen the wound for many.

It was with these thoughts that found the Dalish woman sitting, before a blazing fire, gripping the bowl of venison stew in long fingered, calloused hands. Blue eyes stared into the leaping flames as she pondered why she had left her family behind to help an Order she had little knowledge of, and even less respect for.

She sighed, her eyes lifting from their gaze of the flames, searching over the camp. Her gaze alighted upon the dark form of the young Warden, who was engaged in a lively conversation with many of like aged elves. A grin forced its way to her lips as she watched him pantomime some battle, a grin splitting his face at the cheers and scoffs of disbelief that greeted his story from the other young people.

Young people…she stretched, craning her neck before setting her bowl down. Since when had she no longer considered herself young? She ran her fingers through her long tresses, a frown upon her face.

Standing, her gaze shifted, taking in the camp, where many of the People sat by the fires, some in couples, others in large groups. But none of them sat alone. Ashalle sat nearby, Theron on her lap, noisily sipping his evening meal while twitching with impatience upon his foster mother's lap.

It was then she realized that she had ceased considering herself young the moment she had made the decision to leave her clan - her people - to fight with the shemlen against the Orlesians.

Even when she had been young, she had ceased being young.

These few days, once more amongst her People, not the flat-ears of the Alienage, but true elves, who knew their history, understood the true meaning of sacrifice, and were willing to fight for their freedom, had allowed the feeling of belonging to once again find its way into her heart, infusing her soul. She had not realized just how lonely she had been within the Alienage until she had returned to her clan.

And she would not be able to remain.

It was with a heavy, almost heartbroken sigh that she turned away from the sight of her clan, and walked with heavy steps to the three room aravel the Keeper had set aside for her and Duncan's use.

oOo

Standing still just was not Duncan's thing. He was used to movement, and since joining the Grey Wardens, that had been what his entire life had become. Even now, stationed in Ferelden, he never truly stayed in one place for long. His duties as Aldrich's second would take him all over the country, from Denerim to Highever, onwards to Orzammar and then to Redcliffe. Wherever he found himself, he found action, whether it was fighting the occasional stray darkspawn, a group of bandits believing the lone man easy prey, or the adventure of sharing a beautiful woman's bed, it did not matter to him. As long as he was constantly on the move, despite how he ended up in the Wardens, he was happy.

Or, as happy as one could be given that he would most likely die before he reached forty. Or the chance that his life may be ended even earlier than that upon the tainted blade of a darkspawn.

At least he did not think he would ever die to a Blight. It had, after all, been centuries since the last one, and all things had been quiet. He hoped that the strange darkspawn they had encountered nearly two years prior would keep its word. A Blight was the last thing the young warden ever wanted to experience.

There were just so many other more worthwhile things in this life to experience.

Such as the pretty Dalish girl who had become his near constant companion since they had arrived at the Mahariel camp. He looked over at her as she swiped a red lock from emerald green eyes, her delicately featured face turning in a wide grin as she noticed his attention. She had been shy, at first, with her curiosity regarding the shemlen male that had entered their camp with Adaia Mahariel. That he was a companion of the one who had become near legend in their clan added to the young man's mystique.

However, despite his many, many attempts at even trying to steal a kiss from the girl, Duncan had yet remained unrewarded for his efforts.

He was beginning to think that the sweet seeming young woman was actually teasing him.

Ah, well…his gaze left her face, searching through the various campsites, hoping to spot the tall figure of the woman he traveled with. However, the many bright lights of the fires combined with the surrounding darkness foiled his attempts.

With a sigh, he turned back to his companion, smiling as she continued with his lessons of their language.

oOo

"The Forest is littered with ancient ruins," Marethari stated, pointing a long, slender finger to an area east of their current location, deeper into the Forest. "According to the texts and scrolls I have regarding this area of the Forest," she frowned, looking up at Adaia and then over to Duncan, "which admittedly, there is not much of," she looked back to the intricately detailed map lying spread out over her table, "there was once a Tevinter settlement here." Again, her finger tapped the area, where stony ruins were depicted.

Duncan was frowning as he stood up, staring down at the map. Marethari continued as she stepped back, allowing the young human room by the table. "The amulet," she carefully pulled free the drawing of the amulet Duncan had given her days ago. "was the key as to where to start my search. I still cannot decipher the runes; however, knowing that they were Tevinter in origin assisted my search for where in the Forest your renegade mage may have been seeking."

"These ruins?" Duncan asked, turning to face the Keeper.

Marethari nodded. "Ages ago, Tevinter lords fought the Elvhenan in many battles here, in this Forest. There was much death and destruction, and the Veil between this world and the Beyond has thinned." She sighed. "It is but a guess, for there are many ruins within the Forest. However, these ruins are nearby and," she actually offered a small smile, "I found one of the runes from the blade denoted upon the depiction of the ruin here," she bent down to the map, her eyes squinting as she sought out and then pointed to where the rune, a square with offset corners, floated above the depiction of the ruin.

Frowning thoughtfully down at the map, Duncan muttered, "It is a start, isn't it?"

Without raising her own eyes, the Keeper nodded, saying, "Indeed it is, child."

Rising, she turned toward Adaia, who was watching as Duncan absorbed the information. She shook her head as the smirk she had become familiar with reappeared on the young Warden's face. "Well," he said as he straightened, facing the women, "it appears that our luck is holding out."

Shaking her head, Adaia offered a small shrug to her human companion. "So it would seem."

oOo

Armed with various maps of the Brecilian Forest and the Wilds, their packs laden with foodstuffs and other supplies, Duncan and Adaia set off for the ruins early the next morning. Ashalle, carrying Theron, accompanied Marethari and several hunters, to escort the pair to the outer perimeters of the Dalish campsite.

Adaia turned to Ashalle, her eyes dark and concerned. Duncan noticed that his normally confident companion seemed uncertain, her eyes straying back towards the camp they were departing. As the two women embraced, the small, squirming form of Theron between them, the young warden wondered if his Dalish escort debated returning to her people, completely leaving behind the husband and child back at the Alienage in Denerim. As the pair parted, Adaia's hand brushing Theron's chubby cheek once, he watched as her usual determined, stubborn expression returned to her face, her shoulders pulled back, her back straight. He had no idea of how difficult the visit to her clan had been for Adaia, but he did not doubt that leaving this second time was perhaps the most difficult.

He almost felt sorry that he was the cause for any discomfort the elven woman experienced.

Marethari had turned to him, and was speaking. Berating himself, he turned to the Keeper, shrugging an apology at her to indicate he had not heard her words. The Keeper merely chuckled at his bemused expression. "I said, young one, that I pray the Gods watch over you, and that Fen'Harel never find your scent."

Bowing his thanks, he hefted his pack squarely upon his shoulders, turning to watch as Adaia stepped forward to embrace her clan's Keeper. He moved away as Marethari whispered into Adaia's ear, "You are more than welcome to return, Lethallan." Adaia blinked, pulling away slightly to look into Marethari's wise eyes. "The clan would benefit, once more, from your leadership."

A thoughtful expression crossed Adaia's face momentarily, but, as she pulled herself free of the Keeper's encircling arms, she shook her head. As she hefted her pack to her shoulders, she replied, "And what of my mate and child?" Her eyes, dark blue now as they skimmed once more over the encampment. "My babe would benefit from the clan's embrace, however, I doubt Cyrion would find a place herein." She turned to stare into her brother's former First once more. With a sigh, she replied, "I shall think on it. Maybe Cyrion's skill in June's Art would garner him a position with Master Ilen."

The Keeper searched Adaia's face for several moments before offering her a smile and a nod. Her arms fell away and the Dalish hunter stepped back, matching the Keeper's smile with one of her own. Then, adjusting her shoulders once more, she turned toward her human companion, leading the way from the camp.

The slightest of frowns marring the smile upon her face, Marethari watched as the pair turned to wave their farewells before moving further into the Forest.

oOo

Once they had left the Dalish camp, the pair turned southeasterly, bringing them deeper into the ancient Forest. Neither knew what they would find at the ruins Marethari had indicated. However, the shared rune between the amulet and map had been their only clue.

As they walked, Duncan spared a glance to his companion. Adaia strolled along, her back straight, her eyes shifting, always wary. He had heard stories of these woods, of how they were said to be haunted by those who had fought and died here eons ago. He had first hand knowledge that strange things walked amongst these trees, but he understood from the Keeper that things far worse than the wild sylvans haunted these paths. Thinking along those lines brought a question - one of many - to his mind, and he found himself quickening his pace, bringing himself alongside his elven companion.

"If these Forests are so haunted," he began without preamble. Adaia glanced over at him, a blond brow raised. Taking it as permission to continue, he said, "why do the Dalish continue to make camp here each season?"

A small smirk lit across her lips. She tilted her head upwards, blue-gray eyes staring up into the sunshine before returning to the path before them. "These Forests are a part of us," she started, her voice quiet as she recalled the lessons from her youth. "We fought the Imperium here; we battled the barbarians for dominance, for a place to set our aravels when we tired of running." A small shrug rippled along her shoulders as she glanced back over to her human companion. "And what better place in which to seek peace than a place where humans fear to tread?"

Duncan blinked at that, nodding his head slowly as he absorbed her words. Self-preservation played a major part in the movements of each Dalish clan. Of that, he had been aware of since before leaving Orlais. The Dalish within the Empire's borders were far more reclusive than those found within Ferelden. The Warden had always presumed it was because of Orlais' class structure, where the wandering elves would be considered even less than serfs, and treated vilely due to that fact. Now he understood that it was far more than that.

The Dalish truly wanted to be separate from the race of beings that had so long ago decimated their own empire, scattered their kind across the face of Thedas, destroyed their history, and taken their lives. That they would seek the confines of a haunted, troubled Forest to further that separation was astonishing to the young man.

And yet, he found he could understand it. He had seen the clan as they lived, harmonious with one another, understanding the surrounding wilderness, accepting that never could they remain in one place for overly long. Slowly, he nodded his dark head, his eyes fixed upon the fine features of the elven woman beside him. She must have been aware of the thoughts the scrambled through the young human's mind for she said nothing else, but returned his nod before bringing her focus to the fore, picking their trail carefully as they traversed the wild tangles of the deep Forest.

The young warden noticed that several times during the course of the day Adaia would pause, lifting her bright head, almost as though she were sniffing the air. Then, she would tilt her head slightly as though searching for a particular sound. After about the fifth time of her doing so, the young man's curiosity finally got the better of him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, frowning slightly as the elf turned her attention to him, her head still tilted slightly, searching for noise.

Her frown matched his own. "Wrong?" There was a subtle shake of her head. "I am uncertain I could say 'wrong', but…" she stopped, turning her gaze back ahead of them, then turned back, behind them.

Duncan had traveled the length and breadth of Ferelden. Had been in the Order for a few years now. Before that, he had lived on the dangerous streets of Val Royeaux, earning his coin through picking the pockets of nobility, commoner and the occasional chevalier. He knew when danger was, and could recognize the feel of it when it hunted him.

Carefully, he pulled his sword and dagger free of their sheaths, mindful that Adaia's bow was now free in her hand, the other grasping and pulling an arrow free of its quiver. It was as they turned, back to back, that they heard the first keening cry to the east.

A cry that was answered northerly of the first, echoed back again, and again. A tension ran through the young man, and he felt Adaia's back stiffen slightly as the cries came from all directions, rising in frequency, changing in cadence from cry to howl.

And closing in.

"Wolves," Adaia hissed out, and he was surprised that he noticed not only how low her voice had become, but how tight with fear it was.

Knowing the Dalish hunter with him was exhibiting a fear that he had never noticed in her before did nothing to quell his own growing ill ease as the howls came closer and still they had seen nothing emerge from the surrounding thick growth of trees and under growth.

"Where?" Duncan breathed out, his eyes scanning the surrounding undergrowth, a gnawing feeling growing in his belly. He still saw nothing, but heard enough for worry.

"I…" Adaia began, but could not finish, as the lanky form of a black, shadowy wolf erupted from the shadows, teeth bared, snarling as it lunged at the human male. Snarling out, the Dalish warrior spun, bow level in her hand, arrow quickly knocked as she pulled and fired.

The missile exploded into the air, slicing deeply into the heavy chest of the creature. A pained whine rose into the air, ceasing as a second and then third arrow hit, felling it to the ground. Suddenly the pair was surrounded by dark forms, slinking around them, snarling as they flowed into and from the shadows.

"Shadow wolves," the Dalish warrior muttered as she knocked another arrow. "Be careful, Duncan," she advises, addressing him by name, one of the few times she has done so. "They lair within the deepest shadows, are more wily than their smaller cousins, and can move as rogues within their confines."

"You mean they're sneaky?" the young man quipped, allowing a smirk to cross his dark face as he and Adaia pivoted, each watching the surrounding creatures warily.

A slight, tremulous chuckle breathed between Adaia's lips. "Rather like someone else I know." He could almost hear the forced smirk in her voice.

The injured wolf howled its pain, spurring the others into action. Sleek, shadowy forms shifted into and out of the shadows, launching themselves at the pair in their midst. Adaia managed to fire off several arrows, each scoring hits on three of the wolves while killing the first. But, the creatures moved too quickly, too assuredly, and the elven archer had to abandon her bow for the daggers she wore at her hips as the predators advanced.

Crouched down, Duncan had remained at Adaia's back, protecting it as she fired off her missiles. Once she had abandoned her bow, he lunged forward, swiping his sword in an arch as he jabbed forward with his dagger, forcing the wolf back and away, snarling as it lowered its head, its dark eyes fixed upon the human before it. Maintaining his crouch, Duncan shifted his position, brandishing his blade at another oncoming wolf. Adaia, sensing his circumstance, spun about, her daggers flashing in the dappled forest light, clipping the second oncoming wolf's nose, forcing it back with a pained snarl.

The first wolf harassing Duncan gathered itself, leaping into the air. With a shout of warning, the young Warden brought his sword up, thrusting it directly into the chest of the airborne wolf. The blade sliced through hide, slipping between ribs, slicing into the great heart beneath. Bracing his feet, the young warden gripped the hilt with both hands, flipping the wolf overhead, slamming it to the ground. With barely a yelp, the wolf flopped about as it bled out.

Duncan's presence near her back, Adaia lunged forward, her daggers crossed before her as she advanced upon one large, black wolf. It's keen, yellow eyes watched her warily, and the elf wondered if this was the alpha of the group. The creature stood head and shoulders to the elf, its black fur bristling as it hunched, readying itself to pounce upon the slender woman.

Before the creature could gather itself, the elf shot forward, daggers still crossed. The beast snarled as it leaped forward, and its snarled rose as a pained growl as her daggers uncrossed, slashing across the beast's shoulder, slashing deeply, drawing blood. Baring its teeth, it slunk backwards, cautiously, watching the elf as they circled one another.

Three of the smaller wolves lay at Duncan's feet, but he had not escaped the battles uninjured. Many cuts from claws, gashes from teeth, and bruises from being brought to the ground beneath one of the heavy wolves, were dotted over the young man's body. He could hear his companion as she met the large alpha, but one more wolf stood before him, larger than his other foes, its dark, red fur matted with old, dry blood. He shivered at the intelligence within eyes that seemed almost human, and he silently scolded himself his wild imaginings. He heard a gasp from Adaia, and a loud thudding sound behind him followed by a startled cry.

And yet he dared not glance back to his companion, for fear his own opponent would take the moment of distraction and advance. Thus far, it only watched him, circling, its eyes fixed upon his. Slowly it blinked, but maintained its distance.

Adaia found herself pinned beneath the heavy body of the black wolf, its fetid breath in her face as it snarled down at her. Her arms were raised, crossed beneath the wolf's chin as she struggled to keep its snapping jaws from her face. She cried out Duncan's name as she struggled to bring her knees up and beneath the great beast's chest.

Duncan heard her cry out his name, and he faltered, his eyes wavering between the wolf before him and his fallen companion. His wolf paused, its eyes going from the human to the pinned elf. It huffed out, almost a sneeze, and Duncan could hear the struggles behind him ease. He risked a look, surprised to see the huge black wolf saunter back from the elf, its teeth still bared, yellow eyes fixed upon the elven woman who now struggled to her feet, her blades still in her hands, held before her.

Duncan looked back to the smaller wolf, watching as it backed from the pair. The large black circled around the two, moving to stand beside the red wolf. Then, with a final look at the two, the pair turned, lumbering off into the shadows, leaving the pair injured from minor wounds, bloodied, and bewildered.


	9. Chapter 9

They continued to make their way through the forest, the ever changing trails and paths leading them to high cliffs or tangled roots and underbrush and, once, a raging river, swollen with the spring melt. Growling, Adaia would change their course, seeking another path, and yet they always found their progress hindered.

Darkness would envelope the pair, dancing shadows flitting between the trees as the nighttime creatures cried out to one another. And, still, the pair would find themselves landlocked once again, their path blocked, pushing them toward another direction.

At one point Adaia had stopped their progress - a relative term in this case - and began to set up camp, ignoring Duncan's questioning stare as he, too, set up their small campsite for the eve.

"I thought we had the Forest's permission," the elf finally muttered as the pair sat before the fire, three days since their encounter with the strange wolves.

A thoughtful and questioning frown formed between his brow, and Duncan asked, "Why would you think that?"

Steely blue eyes fixed upon his dark face, but he knew that her ire and impatience was not directed at him. He almost - almost - risked a smile, but decided it would be far wiser to just not.

"Those wolves let us pass," she reminded the young human, tossing a stick into the flames as they waited for the stew to simmer. "Did you not notice how unnatural they seemed?"

The young warden blinked, frowning slightly. "You really have to forgive me, Adaia," he drawled out. "I really don't have much experience in the wilderness. Show me a wolf in a city, now, I can point out the unnaturalness of that. But, here," he waved a hand to encompass the surrounding trees and plants. "I've not a clue."

Adaia scowled at her companion for many moments. "You do have a strange sense of humor, Duncan," she finally acknowledged, slumping back against the log. "You have the great misfortune of reminding me of the Whimpering Fool." Her eyes narrowed at him slightly, and Duncan was mortified to feel a hot flush creep up his neck. "Careful whom you try to emulate." The Dalish woman warned, but there was a play at the corners of her mouth, and Duncan was certain - absolutely certain - that the woman was poking fun at him.

Smirking, realizing he had free reign to do so, the young Warden tilted his head forward in a mock bow. "I merely endeavor to please, my lady."

Snorting in a most unladylike fashion, Adaia shook her head, giving their supper a stir in the pot. As she ladled some into a bowl and handed it off to Duncan, she remarked, "I am certain you say that to all of ladies."

His hand extended to grasp the bowl, Duncan almost lost his grip as the almost playful - and dare he think it, flirtatious - comment purred from Adaia. He risked a glance over, to find her watching him, a twinkle in her eye and small smile upon her lips. Giving out a sigh of exasperation, the young man firmed his hold on his bowl, and pulled it to him. "You know, you are evil." He quipped out, relishing the playful side of his companion, a side he had not seen and had not thought to see.

Her answer was a graceful shrug of her shoulders as she ladled out stew for herself. She chewed her food thoughtfully, her expression turning solemn as her eyes scanned the tangled wilds around them. Her voice was soft as she broke the silence.

"I know I am difficult to get along with at times," she admitted, and Duncan found himself yet again surprised by his astonishing companion. She turned her eyes to him, and they were still that steely blue. "I have met few humans I could call comrade; fewer still who are friends. You are a good man, Duncan. I can see that."

"Why do I sense a 'but' in there?" the young man teased back.

A slight nod of her head answered that comment. "You are still human. I have lived long enough among your kind to know that, as with the Dalish, there are good humans, bad humans, and those who are merely disinterested beyond their own noses," her eyes hardened slightly then. "I will always watch you, Duncan. Merely for the fact that you are human, and that wall of distrust I built around myself helped me to protect myself and my people. It is a difficult structure to try and unbuild after all these years." She gave him a pointed look. "My people have suffered much at the hands of humans, and it takes a very long time for that knowledge and suffering to melt away into understanding."

"At least you say 'human' instead of 'shem'." the young man found himself saying before he actually put thought into it, and he winced as he anticipated the onslaught of verbal abuse he would soon suffer for such a comment.

Instead of reacting with anger, as he was certain she would, she merely inclined her head, her eyes still sharp and hard, gray penetrating the blue. "I take into account my current companionship," she said softly, eyes narrowing slightly, as though she awaited another thoughtless quip from the young human.

This time, however, Duncan held his tongue and wisely spooned more food into his mouth before he could say anything further to upset his companion.

The rest of the evening passed by in relative silence, save for the nocturnal woodland creatures calling to one another in the distance.

0O0

The sun was high in the noonday sky when they entered what could only in the most generous means be called a clearing. Duncan stopped between the sparse trees, his dark eyes scanning the horizon, moving down and following the tree lines to the ground. Adaia had moved away from him, moving with purpose, as she stepped toward the crumbling stone wall hidden within underbrush and saplings.

The young human watched as the Dalish hunter knelt, her lithe form leaning forward to push and pull the brush from the wall. He frowned slightly, shaking his head, not believing that this was the place they were directed to by Marethari.

After all, the only structure he could see was the low, crumbling wall, swallowed up by weeds, undergrowth, and tangled saplings. Wasn't there supposed to be an actual ruins?

So he stood, watching as the elf wasted her time digging through the growth, and he felt an impatience overcome him as her ministrations continued.

"Shouldn't we just go look…" he pointed toward the east, "elsewhere." His voice contained his impatience, and the answering smirk the elven woman gave him offered him no reassurance that she took anything he said seriously.

Many more minutes passed and Duncan, exasperated and impatient, trudged to the elf's side, glaring down at her sunny blond head.

As his shadow passed over her, Adaia stopped, her hands to her knees, and deep sigh erupting from her. Lifting her face to peer into Duncan's scowling features, her blue eyes twinkled as she grinned.

"When I compared you to Maric," she said in a calm voice. "I really should have thought more carefully."

That comment caused the young man's brow to raise ever so slightly. "Oh?"

"Yes," she nodded as she returned to her work. "I should have compared you to Loghain."

Snorting, the young Warden continued to scowl as Adaia gave one of her rare - and musical - laughs. "Yes, indeed," she muttered as she continued to pull the growth free of the wall, revealing more of the low, crumbling structure. "Just like Loghain. No patience."

"I thought King Maric was impatient," the Warden countered, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yes, but his impatience usually displayed itself as merely childish," she stopped to grin back up. "Rather like a child prodding a parent." Her voice raised an octave and she replied in a sing-song manner, "'Are we there yet?'"

She grinned as she continued in her normal tones. "Loghain would scowl darkly. Glower and loom over you until either you lost patience and stalked away or confronted the man," she pointed at the young man's dark face. "Rather like you are doing now and rather like I am trying very hard not to do." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I am certain you will be surprised to learn that I always confronted the man."

That comment made the young man relax, taking her warning at face value, he forced his facial muscles to relax, to relinquish that marring expression.

"Besides," Adaia continued, rising to dust off her knees and clap the dirt from her hands, "I believe we have found the ruins Marethari directed us to."

Dark eyes narrowed as they reevaluated their surroundings. "How can you be sure?" he asked after a moment. Turning to look into the woman's face, he continued. "We've gotten so turned around, how do we even know that we're in the eastern part of the forest?"

Grinning, Adaia shrugged her shoulders. "It is not the trails we follow, Duncan, but the sun and the stars." She gestured upwards toward the great glowing orb in the sky. "Trails and paths can overgrow; landmarks change; trees mature and die, the very land itself can warp and change, rise and fall. However, the stars and sun, even the moon, are ever constant. It is by them that we make our way in the world."

Duncan's response was to sputter, and Adaia tittered out another chuckle. "Trust me, Duncan." She turned to face him, still smiling. "You and your Order asked for my help. This," she gestured toward the wall and the small tunnel she had begun through the underbrush. "is why."

Near black eyes fixed upon the blues of the elven woman. The young man did not want to continue arguing. They had asked the Dalish woman for her help because she could guide him through the wilderness of Ferelden. Far better than any scout available.

He also did not want to ruin her good humor. Days after leaving her clan, she had been rather melancholy and sorrowful, her normal short temper made even shorter. She had not spoken of her distress, but Duncan had seen it clearly upon her face.

The further from her clan, the calmer her moods. As they continued their travels deeper into the forest, the young man believed that he was seeing a side of Adaia that few - save perhaps Loghain, Maric, Rowan and her husband - ever saw: she was almost girlish in her enthusiasm to continue with this adventure.

So, he decided to merely shrug and bend down, pushing back his own ill humor, to examine the small clearing she had made through the tangled underbrush.

What he had taken for as a simple stone wall was actually of marble. That was his first surprise. The closer he pushed himself through the brush, the more he realized that the wall descended deeper into the earth, extending out and away from where he knelt, turning at graceful angles to encompass the clearing they stood within. Intrigued, he dug in deeper, noting the carved columns that rose, twisted and broken, unforgotten for millennia, just mere yards from where he crouched.

Carefully, he backed from the hole, rising to face the smirking face of his companion.

"How…?" he began, his eyes going back to the tunnel of undergrowth he had just emerged from.

"We Dalish have been traveling these Forests for centuries," the woman replied, her smirk softening to a smile. "Trees grow and die, life ceases, and starts anew. Such is the way of the wilds. You just need to know how to look for that which has passed on."

"You're being cryptic on purpose," the young man accused, and Adaia laughed again, nodding.

"Well, of course. Aren't we Dalish supposed to have near magical knowledge of the wilderness trails? Do we not simply speak with the animals to find our way through the tangled forest?" Her laughter was infectious, and Duncan found himself chuckling along with her.

"As I said earlier, I merely took the coordinates from the map, added my own understanding of just how old these ruins may well be, and followed the stars and sun."

"And I thought you were being stubborn," the man griped, shaking his head.

"I can be," the elf agreed, still smiling as she turned and knelt before the entryway they had both dug into. "I knew it would be here." She tilted her head back toward the young man. "And I stand firm in my earlier belief that the wolves we encountered wanted us to find it."

"What makes you so certain?"

There was a delicate shrug of her shoulders, her eyes raising from the tunnel to follow along the tree line, her eyes soft.

"I am uncertain exactly, Duncan." She lifted her eyes to his. "There was an intelligence to them, almost as though, by their not pressing the battle but backing away, they were giving us their permission to venture further into the Forest." There was another shrug as she sighed, turning her attention back to the tunnel. "We have been unhampered since our encountering them. And that, I can assure you, is quite unusual."

That thought did not ease his concerns as he was certain Adaia had meant it to. "You sure?"

"No,' the elf shook her head, pulling her pack from her shoulders as she dug in more firmly into the undergrowth. "However, there were times, as we encountered one obstacle or another, that I felt as though we were being herded, pushed in a direction, the incorrect path being cut off to us."

"Isn't that taking the whole haunted forest legends a bit too far?"

Blue eyes fixed upon his face, and again, Duncan felt that flush warm up the back of his neck, to the tips of his ears. That this woman could so easily fluster him with a mere look from those eyes…

"I do know that we are at the ruins." Came Adaia's calm, reasonable response.

"But, if Rikhard had already been here, wouldn't there already be an entrance?'

She shook her head, gesturing to the undergrowth. "How powerful a mage was he?"

Now it was Duncan who shrugged. "I'm…not entirely certain. He must be fairly powerful, to escape the wardens as he has been."

Gesturing slightly with a long fingered, elegantly calloused hand, Adaia said, "Take a look at this brush." Duncan moved closer, bending over her shoulder, careful of her bow, so close he could smell the elfroot and sweetfern in her hair. "What do you see?" she asked, shifting slightly to allow him a better view, her eyes fixed upon him, a calm expression upon her face.

His face twisted slightly as he grimaced and shook his head. "Ah, grass…weeds…crumbling rock wall…dirt," he frowned into her face. "What do I see?"

An exaggerated patient shake of her head and smile met his question. "Do you see anything different between this undergrowth and that along the rest of this perimeter?" Her voice was soft, patient, as she gestured to the flora.

No…he had started to say, but then paused, his eyes sweeping along the perimeter of the wall, working his eyes back to where they currently knelt. Tracing the line of plant life that encompassed the small clearing, he noted that, where they stood, the flora appeared…

"Younger?" he questioned, his brow twisting in confusion. "It's greener," he moved away from the elf, pressing his hand into the undergrowth, pulling forth tender, green sprigs of milkweed, fresh young lambs ears scattered beneath. Further away, the milkweed stalks were dark green to brown, the fuzz atop each stalk heavy with pink and purple flowers, and heavy weeds and grasses enveloped any lambs ears growing in that direction.

"Your mage, somehow, knows Keeper magic," she gestured to the new growth and then toward the older Duncan had just indicated. "How? I have no idea…" she tapped her chin thoughtfully with one long finger. "I guess that is another question to ask your renegade Warden once we find him."

Duncan nodded, turning away from the elf for a moment as his dark eyes, once again, scanned the area surrounding them. He knew that Rikhard was long gone, but that small part of him needed to look over the area again. There was that feeling, just between his shoulder blades, that gave him the chilling knowledge that, whether his fellow Warden or not, the two of them were being watched.

Knowing there was nothing he could do about it at this time, realizing just how short their time to seek out and locate Rikhard was becoming, Duncan turned back to his companion, and offered her a hand as she continued to dig, pull and push her way through the thick underbrush, seeking out the entrance to the ruins she was now certain lay just ahead of them.

0O0

Evening arrived, a comforting blanket of blackness, dotted by shimmering pinpoints of the stars above. The fire crackled along in the pit, the sounds and smells of cooking rabbit permeating the air.

The pair had managed to clear a great deal of the growth from the ruins wall, exposing a great expanse of the marble creation. The darkness had come too soon, however, and the pair had to abandon their quest to gain entrance that day. With luck, they would manage to clear more in the morning, and expose an entrance into the ruins.

For now, the pair sat, quietly listening as the nighttime wilderness came alive. Birds cooed to each other from a distance, while the yips of fox and wolf echoed along the outer perimeter of their camp. Some very close, others a great distance. But none ventured into their sanctuary.

It was almost as though none of the natural inhabitants of the Forest would dare enter the clearing the two had claimed.

As their meal cooked, Duncan lounged against the log he had pulled free from their excavation site, his hands clasped behind his head as he watched Adaia poke at the rabbits upon the spit.

"Can we talk?" the young man asked of his companion after several moments, watching as a quizzical expression crossed the woman's expressive face.

"During our time together, Duncan," she said as she settled back upon the stump she sat upon, giving the spit a turn as the grease sputtered and spat from their meal. "I have never known you not to talk."

Grinning, he straightened, his hands coming from behind his head, resting his arms upon the log. "You are funny, do you know that?" he teased, watching for any sign that he had gone too far.

Her expression remained a simple mask of friendliness, but nothing further. With a sigh, the man continued.

"Why did you decide to come along and help me?" he asked after another moment.

With a sigh, Adaia settled back, bringing the cooking fork to her lap as she turned her eyes back to the human. "Does it matter?" she asked after a moment.

"A question for a question?" Duncan quipped, shaking his head. "It doesn't really matter. I'm just curious." He tilted his dark head, feeling the lengthening growth of his hair brush against the back of his neck, and he briefly wondered if he could convince Adaia to give it a cut. "You weren't very thrilled with the idea when we first met at your home."

She frowned slightly at the man, poking again at the rabbit. "I was not thrilled," she admitted, turning the spit again. "My main purpose, after all, is the care of my family, and protection of the Alienage." Her head tilted slightly as she turned her gaze upon Duncan. "The elves who dwell in the city are more victim than not. Sometimes, I think that it is only my blade and bow that keeps the predators at bay."

The young human could only nod at that. He knew well how poorly treated elves were. His thoughts momentarily went to another elven woman he had come to care for, wondering how she was doing now, what she was doing, if she shared any regrets…

"I know," he said softly, his introspective gaze once more focusing on the external. "Yet, you still agreed…"

"I was convinced," she said shortly, frowning. "Two people I value above others convinced me that this was for the best."

"Cyrion,' Duncan responded knowingly.

Nodding, Adaia replied, "Yes. My husband felt that it was important to Ferelden, to the Grey Wardens, perhaps even to my people. After all, you did make it sound so ominous." She offered a small smile, one without mirth however. Her voice lowered and deeper, she drawled out. "A dark evil in the wilds." She gave the spit another turn. "Really?"

Duncan shrugged. "Well, it is possible that Rikhard's intentions are evil." He defended himself, feeling more than a bit sheepish as he recollected that particular conversation.

"Ah hah," was the elf's reply. Duncan was relieved, however, that she did not seem angry over his…overstated description of the matter at hand.

"And the other?" Adaia turned and looked at the young man questioningly. Duncan continued. "You said two…"

Nodding, "The second would be Loghain," her eyes turned back to their food, and she gave it a poke, grease spurting from the puncture. "He asked. I know that he would not have if he had not felt it was important." She smiled slightly, a little sad. "I will owe my friend an apology," she twisted to look at her bow, "and a bow when I return."

That raised a brow and Duncan could not contain his curiosity. "Oh?"

"I was…rather short with him as we…discussed my going along with you."

"You? Short?" Duncan asked, laughing.

Adaia's blue eyes narrowed slightly, her soft smile vanishing. "Hmmm…I suppose I do deserve that. Somewhat," she raised a finger to the young man disapprovingly. "But were I you, I would not take advantage of my good humor."

Warning taken, Duncan bowed his head to the elven woman, his eyes going to their meal. "Are those ready yet?" he asked, a rumbling in his belly telling him that they had better be.

Chuckling, Adaia nodded, pulling free one of the rabbits, sliding it onto a plate. "You and your appetite." As she handed it to him, she offered him a small smile. "This was difficult for me, you realize," she admitted as she turned back to pull the other free for her own dinner. "I left behind my heart, Duncan. My child…my husband…the elves," she sighed slightly, her eyes raised to stare into the darkness. "I worry how they will be if I am not there."

"You take too much onto yourself," the young man, who really did not know her well enough, made the presumptuous remark around a mouthful of meat. He stopped chewing, certain that he had just invited her temper to make an appearance.

Surprisingly, Adaia did not take offense, but merely nodded. "I know how things in the Alienage were before I arrived. I know that there are humans within Denerim who prefer to keep elves under their boot heel." She looked up at the man before resuming her meal. "Many who will never allow my people their proper place in the world."

"For what it's worth," Duncan said and Adaia turned to watch him. "I am sorry."

She remained silent, and Duncan felt that same, prodding guilt come over him again. Since he had joined the Wardens - been forced into their ranks - he had been asked to keep secrets that he would prefer not to. He had been ordered to perform acts he would never have conceived of in his days as a rogue on the streets of Val Royeaux. Pulling a woman from her family, her home, her people…he felt guilty. And wondered if there had been another means for pursuing this matter, without the need to bring another from the outside in.

However, he had his orders, his instructions…this was his life now. As he ate, the succulent meat now dry as dust in his mouth, he wondered what more the Order would ask of him to give.

How much more would his conscience need to bear before his Calling would be upon him?


	10. Chapter 10

The man sat upon the chair, a gray silver amulet held loosely in his hands. Dark eyes earnestly searched the amulet, hands seeking out any imperfection within the item. Before him, flames danced in the fireplace, chasing away the chill of the evening, offering flickering light in the small room. Squinting, he brought the item closer to his eyes, running long, calloused fingers along the ridge.

Rikhard sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his head backwards, ears alert for any approach to the door of the small room he had rented. He had found his way to an out of the way inn in an obscure little town – barely large enough to support its own Chantry - along the King's Highway. There were moments he felt that, as always, the amulet had guided him to this small village, as it sat mere days from the Korcari Wilds.

His next destination.

Those fathomless black eyes opened, rising to stare at the mirror that hung upon the wall by his narrow bed. Clutching the amulet tightly, he rose, stepping before the reflective glass, taking in the features of the man mirrored therein.

It had been a simple matter, truly, to alter his appearance. Shoulder length red-gold hair had been cut short, colored to a non-descript brown. His Warden uniform – robes he had worn since his inception to the Order a decade prior – had easily been discarded, exchanged for light leathers that allowed for the fluidity of motion spell casting required, yet offered the protection his heavily enchanted robes had. Eyes flickered to the ornate and heavily runed spear settled against the room's second chair. The spear had served as his staff since he had been inducted into the Grey Wardens, and it was the only concession he allowed himself of his former identity.

Even his name had been changed from the rarely heard 'Rikhard'' to the more common 'Richard'.

To any observer, he appeared as a warrior, perhaps from the highlands. Even his accent – that of Orlesian tinged with that of the Anderfels – could mark him as a warrior of the ancient clans that still roamed the highlands.

As a Grey Warden mage, he had been allowed certain freedoms that other mages were not given. However, a lone mage – regardless of his origin – would raise too many questions, cause too many curious eyes to turn his direction.

And, given the circumstances of just two years prior with Ferelden's own Circle and its entanglement with the Order, he felt it wiser to not incur any suspicions from the natives. Either by revealing himself as a mage or a Grey Warden.

It was good fortune for him, indeed, that he had training in using his staff as the spear it appeared to be. It was as second nature to the mage to stab forward with the weapon as it was to send his concentration into the item during spell casting.

He turned, gaze leaving his reflection as he walked back to his seat, once again bringing the amulet to his eyes.

During his flight from Weisshaupt, the mage had little time to examine the artifact he had taken from the ancient Grey Warden fortress. He knew only that it had called to him, a plea within his very blood to take it from the Anderfels, seeking the depths of the ancient forest that stood within the heart of the tiny, backwater nation that was Ferelden.

It was during his second flight, this time from Jader, the mage had been able to take stock of the item, to truly study it and determine why it had beckoned to him. He still could not answer why the amulet had called out to him, of all the wardens at the ancient fortress.

He had never distinguished himself among the other wardens. In fact, he had never fought a darkspawn, save just prior to his Joining.

Ten years he had been a Warden, his duties consisting of archiving ancient texts and assisting with the upkeep and preservation of the tombs of the Heroes of previous Blights.

During one of his shifts, as he was preparing the preservation spell over the Tomb of Garahel, he had heard…something. No, he shook his head. Heard was not correct. Felt. As an echo of chimes singing within his skin rather than heard with his ears. It danced within his very core, calling to every fiber of his being. A soft, lyrical call, flooding the center of him, to his very soul. Intrigued, he had ceased his spell casting, and stepped closer to the tomb of the elven hero. There lay the amulet, upon a surface that just moments prior had been bare of anything other than that sculpted into the marble of the sarcophagus. He felt no trepidation as he reached a hand down and plucked it from the cold surface.

The moment his hand had made contact of the silver gray metal, the strange singing ripped through his body, dancing along his veins, singeing his very blood. As he raised the item to his eyes, there had been a spark – a tiny lightening's eruption - reacting to the magic within his being, wrapping itself within the mana deep within his body.

That was all the mage recollected until he found himself taken, as a prisoner, by his fellow Wardens in Jader, thousands of miles from the ancient fortress. Memories of his flight from the fortress were shoddy and incomplete, a mystery to the man who had somehow managed to flee from the ancient fortress to the lowlands.

He did remember his insane rambling, however. He had proclaimed to the Warden Commander in Jader that he had to deliver the amulet, to make it whole. Had even shown the startled and sympathetic man the object in question, but did not easily relinquish same. It had been a struggle, five strong wardens – warriors all – wrestling the item from their brother Warden, certain it was the cause of his insanity.

A dry chuckle escaped his lips now, and he shook his head at the memory, still feeling the sting of embarrassment over his actions. Not for the first time he wondered why his fellow Wardens had not simply locked him as deep into a dungeon as they could, certain that their fellow had gone quite stark, raving mad.

There was a gentle knock at his door, and the Grey Warden called for entrance as he settled the amulet into a pocket, moving forward to place himself within reach of his spear as he watched the door open. A young human girl entered, her arms laden with a tray heavy with his supper, gave an awkward curtsey as she moved to the sidebar, settling the plates of food thereupon. And Rikhard relaxed, a small smile upon his lips as she set the plates out for his use.

Rikhard watched the girl's movements, taking in just how comely a wench she was. His smile widened slightly. He found Fereldan women to be especially attractive, with their strong features and stronger wills. They had beautiful hands…hands that had seen work, and they were not afraid to get them dirty with honest labor. So unlike the many women he had known in Orlais and even in the more stoic Anderfels.

The girl turned and, seeing the attention of the handsome, scarred man fixed upon her, gave a coy smile, a hand rising to brush down one rounded hip.

The Grey Warden considered, seriously, for a moment inviting the girl back later. He had found himself lonely for company, recalling that it had been months since he had shared a bed with anyone. However, the amulet called softly out to him, singing into his being once more. So he rose, handing the pretty girl a silver, offering a softly spoken 'Thank you' as he grasped her hand quickly, releasing it, the warmth of her fingers imprinted upon his cool flesh.

The serving girl gave the man a disappointed pout, curtsied once more, and then quietly left the room, giving the man one last, encouraging wink before closing the door behind her.

He had not noticed the final gesture as he pulled free the amulet, his eyes once more fixed upon the runed surface, long fingers skimming along the surface as he continued his search.

An hour passed, the food delivered sitting where the girl had left it, cold now, the gravy thick and heavy. Blinking, the Grey Warden raised his eyes, rubbing at them, unaware of the passage of time as his attention had been focused solely upon the stolen artifact. A hand went to the pocket of his shirt, pressing against the small, cylinder object tucked away. As always, a strange warmth emanated from the item, seeping through the woven shirt he now wore. A frown crossed his scarred face, and he lifted the amulet again, focusing upon the item once more, tiny sparks erupting along its surface, in answer to the tiny pinprick of magic he sent out into it.

When he had been called by the item – or rather, once he had regained control over his faculties, the mage had been curious as to why it had picked him, of all of the Wardens at the fortress. As time went by, the more he examined the item, interacted with it, he realized that the item called specifically for him, due to circumstances that were rare amongst the Wardens sequestered at the mountain fortress.

The amulet's elven origins were obvious. Ancient elven runes danced along the surface. The power of the item called out to his own elven blood, a gift from his elven father, who had died when he was young for the audacity of loving a human woman. A frown crossed his face as he recalled his mother sharing a similar fate, as had his older brother and younger sister. Horrible memories threatened, and he viciously shook his head, clearing the thoughts away.

He had lived with those memories for more than twenty years; he would not relive them now.

There was also a slight taint to the item, one similar to that found within darkspawn…within the Grey Wardens themselves. So it sought out the taint within his blood, his veins, singeing it with its power.

When he had first picked it up – as it had now – it reacted to the strong magic he wielded.

That was the Tevinter influence in the amulet's creation. Ancient Arcanum edged the item, intermingling with the runes of the ancient elves. The metal of the amulet itself strange and not native to Thedas. Star metal. Very rare, metal having fallen from the sky, a blazing meteor slamming down into the earth, cooling as time passed. He was certain that the metal of this item had indeed come from the heavens.

There was a mystery to the item, and, even had the amulet not sought him out, calling him to collect it, the archivist of the Wardens would still be intent to learn just what that mystery was.

But he was getting frustrated. He had collected the second item needed from the depths of the Brecilian Forest more than a week ago, and he still could not decipher the amulet to integrate the object within. And he knew that both items must be joined. The call from the amulet and cylinder screamed in his head, burning his blood, as their insistence grew with each passing day.

Cursing, he rose, clutching the item tightly in hand, stalking to where his supper lay, cold, the grease of the duck congealing along the edges of the plate.

Those eyes, as black and deep as obsidian, fixed upon the carving knife settled across the trap. Blinking, he raised his free hand, taking the object up, clutching it tightly in his palm.

Before finding the amulet – or rather, before the amulet found him – Rikhard had never resorted to blood magic. Had found no need to do so. His own magic – both in the creations arts as well as primal – were very strong.

The ancient artifact, however, had other needs. Needs of magic, but not of that wielded by the Grey Warden mage. And it was from the item that Rikhard had learned how to wield the magic of blood. No demons called forth, but the power was there.

Within his own blood.

It was with this recollection, shaking his head for not having realized it sooner (he still balked at the use of blood – his or others), he set the amulet down upon the sidebar, bringing the knife to his palm, cutting a shallow furrow into the flesh. He watched as blood oozed from the wound, then picked up the amulet once more, settling it upon the injured hand, watching as the dark red blood flowed across the surface, rippling and oozing around the embossed surface, flowing around and into the runes, a living thing.

Breath quickened as he felt the power of the amulet assert itself, and, then he heard a small clicking sound.

The amulet opened, revealing a cylinder shaped indentation within. Lightheaded, the mage reached into his pocket, pulling free the shining, silver vial. Taking a breath, he settled the object within the indentation, moving his hand quickly as the amulet, of its own power, snapped shut with barely a snap.

Setting the knife down, ignoring the blood that continued to well from the wound, Rikhard watched as the strange metal – metal that tinged his fingers, sparked with his magic, sang deep into his soul – began to take on a reddish, silvery hue.

The song, so beautiful, so insistent, called again, its choir singing in his elven soul, flowing along the mana of his magic, and singeing his tainted blood. It was as though the amulet was rejoicing at the reunion of star metal and silverite, sharing its joy with the mage it had chosen to be its wielder.

Startled, but not unsettled, the Grey Warden sat back into his chair, holding the amulet aloft by its silvery chain, marveling as it sang.

And in that song, the ancient, mysterious artifact conveyed to the man their next destination.


	11. Chapter 11

Dust clouded into the air, enveloping the pair as they coughed and choked upon the stone flooring. As the dust settled, Duncan pushed himself to his knees, reaching down to help Adaia into a crouching position. Frowning, the young Warden turned to glare at the now closed off entrance.

Rising to his feet, the young man reached down and assisted the elven woman regain her own footing. Once the dust had settled, the pair noticed a faint green glowing ahead. With a nod to one another, the two stalked away from the rubble and toward where the chamber they had found themselves within widened.

Green, phosphorous lichen covered the stone floor, its glow lighting the immense chamber. Statues portraying elven Gods and other notables lined the floor in various stages of decay. A frown settled upon Adaia's face as she took in the destruction of her heritage.

She did not notice as Duncan straightened, his eyes narrowed as they scanned to the furthest reaches of the chamber, its back wall hidden in the shadows and other debris.

"Something wrong?" the elf asked as she turned to regard her companion after a moment.

Taking a deep breath, the young man replied, "There's something just…tickling at the edges of my senses," he gave a slight shudder as he turned his eyes toward the woman. "It may be darkspawn. Or simply corruption. I can't tell from this distance."

Her eyes following the path of the young human's the elf responded dryly. "Either way, not very good options."

Duncan gave a sigh, nodding his dark head. He wished now, more than he had in some time, for that mysterious dark bladed dagger he had 'acquired' at the Circle Tower just a couple of years ago. Dark eyes went to Adaia's fair face. He could then give it to her and help assure her safety against the taint.

He gave a shake of his head, scowling to himself. He had long lost the blade; wishing would not send it back to his hand.

"So," Adaia's voice broke through his reverie, "we go forward." Her blue eyes went back to the now closed off passage they had just passed through. "Or we could simply stand here and do nothing."

The young human winced at the woman's voice. She had tried masking her irritation with humor, but Duncan had traveled with her long enough now to notice that she was barely holding her temper. Being under the earth was not something any elf – especially one born to the wilds – appreciated. He remembered clearly Fiona's own discomfort during their sojourn into the Deep Roads.

Tipping his head forward, the young warden patted his weapons before striding ahead, assuming an assuredly he did not feel. "Guess we go ahead then, eh?" he quipped, trying to maintain the forced humor as the elf.

Sighing heavily, glancing once more backwards, the elf shouldered her bow and stalked after the human.

0O0

The corridor they traversed remained at level with the earth above, not delving any deeper into the earth, as far as Duncan could tell. The sensation of the taint danced along his senses, and the young warden found himself playing absently with one of the amulets about his neck. One amulet, a silver locket depicting a rearing griffon, contained a sample of the joining blood from his own joining. A sentimental reminder of a time he had wanted to forget just months earlier. Now…well, it was difficult for him to put into any coherent thought exactly how he felt about the Order now. He had been given responsibility, trust…something he knew that his former commander had difficulty giving him. And, who could blame her.

He had, after all, killed her fiancé.

So, Duncan bore her no ill feeling. Especially since she was dead as she was. He had always felt it best not to think ill of the dead.

Or, not to think of them at all.

It was the second amulet – a small, silverite vial – that his fingers twisted around and twirled as they walked through the corrupted corridors just beneath the forest floor of the Forest. Within that vial contained a mixture of darkspawn blood and lyrium – and some other magical stuff that Duncan still could not wrap his mind around. Like many other Wardens, Duncan had taken to carrying a small amount with him. He had never had occasion to use it – an emergency joining. Never had cause. But, being this far deep, feeling the darkspawn taint around them, he found himself twisting the chain and gliding his fingers over the smooth surface more than once.

He really hated being underground. No matter how deep they traversed.

A glance to his right told him that his companion did not enjoy being so far beneath the surface either. Probably hated it more than he, actually. He had to admire her, though. She was holding her temper far better than he thought she would have. Perhaps the responsibility of tracking kept her mind active enough that she did not have time to complain.

However, they had found no escapes back to the surface as of yet.

Adaia had assured Duncan that they were not going deeper, although it certainly felt it to him.

Finally, after a few hours of walking, Adaia called a halt, bending down to crouch over the phosphorous covered ground. Kneeling beside her, Duncan watched as the elf tapped an area about either inches from where she knelt, bringing her hand back to rest upon her knee.

Looking up, she asked, "See that?"

Confused, the young warden glanced down. All he saw was the same green, glowing moss covered dirt they had been following for hours. He did not need to answer verbally; apparently his confusion was written upon his face, for the elf laughed.

"Do you see any different between this patch of moss," she tapped before her, "and this patch?" she reached behind Duncan, pointing out an area of lighter colored moss. He said as much and she grinned. "The darker moss," she pointed to the area that had originally caught her attention, "has been walked upon." She pointed to a spot that vaguely resembled a foot print. Rising gracefully to her feet she stood, Duncan scrambling to his as she turned to face the direction they had just come from.

"Do you see our footsteps?" she pointed to two sets of clear footprints, each set glowing brighter among the moss. Duncan nodded and she continued. "Recent passage disturbs the moss, breaking it to release the fluid that grows within them, that makes them glow." Her grin turned self-depreciative. "My brother," her words softened at his memory, "could tell you what, exactly that fluid is, how it was created, its purpose and so forth. Me?" Her grin widened. "I can tell you that once some time passes, the fluid dries, the moss dies, and you have a darkened, dead appearing reminder of the passerby." She turned again, pointing once more to the darkened patch.

"So, this is the way Rikhard went?" Duncan asked, frowning down at the moss.

Shrugging, Adaia answered, "More than likely. We already know he did not exit the same way he had entered. And I have not seen any indication that he passed back this way. Only forward," she waved her hand forward with an underhand brush.

"So, forward still?" the warden asked, sighing heavily at the prospect.

For some reason, Adaia found it amusing, and chuckled lightly. "Yes, Warden, we go forward."

"And you are certain we're not getting any deeper into the ground?" Duncan just could not let it go.

Chuckling again, the elf straightened, shifting her shoulders to readjust her bow and quiver. "If I thought we were going deeper beneath the earth, would I be as pleasant as I am now?" she asked, quirking a straight brow, that smirk still upon her lovely face.

"Probably not," Duncan agreed as he adjusted his cloak and tucked both amulets back under his leather jerkin. Bowing extravagantly with a wave of his hand, he said, "Shall we?"

Shaking her head, glad to see some of the playfulness back, Adaia gave a nod, and continued to follow the dark patch of damaged moss.

0O0

He was certain she lied to him, to keep him calm. The earthen walls seemed to close in on him. The ceiling – if it could be called such – was far too high above for him to make out its features. Every now and again he would jump as a feathery length of dirt filled webbing would brush against his forehead.

Adaia – Maker damn the conniving elf – would only chuckle with each stumble or startle the young human would make.

"Calm, Duncan," came Adaia's rather smug voice from just ahead of him. He looked up, peering into the gloom. He could make out the elf's track, marked by the glowing moss in her wake. A glance behind revealed his own still glowing passage.

After an hour of walking, Adaia paused, her blonde head tilting upwards, ears perked to the side. In the eerie green glow he could clearly see the frown that formed upon her pretty face.

"Do you hear that?" she asked after a moment's hesitation, brow furrowed in concentration.

The human tilted his ear slightly, straining to hear what the elf had. A frown crossed his own face as he shook his head.

"Maybe you're hearing things?" he suggested with a grin.

Scoffing, the Dalish huntress showed clearly his suggestion that she could possibly be mistaken. Remaining still for a moment longer – long fingered hand held up as indication Duncan should hold his silence – she continued to listen, her hand unconsciously seeking out her bow.

Blinking, Duncan opened his mouth to speak, when the sound of chittering came to his ear. Startled, he spun around, glancing fearfully into the shadows. He knew those sounds; heard them in his sleep; the one sound that could possibly override the murmuring of darkspawn in his dreams.

Pulling his blades free, the warden was only slightly calmed as Adaia pulled her bow from her shoulder, carefully notching an arrow, holding it down as her sharp elven eyes pierced the gloom around them.

The chittering grew louder, but it did not sound from around them. With a start, the pair realized that the noises came from directly above.

With a shout, Adaia rolled away from Duncan, her bow up and sighted as the first of the giant spiders dropped directly into their midst. Forewarned, Duncan jumped back as Adaia loosed an arrow upon the enormous arachnid. It pierced the bloated body, and as she notched another arrow, Duncan swept in, fighting his fear of the creatures, to drive both of his blades deeply into the soft body, twisting away as sticky fluids gushed from the wounds.

Chittering softly, the creature flopped to its belly and did not rise again.

"Well," Duncan chuckled, giving the corpse a good kick, "That was easy."

An intake of breath told the young Warden just how foolish his prediction had been as several more of the oversized creatures dropped from their unseen webs above.

"Thanks, Duncan!" Adaia hissed out, as though the presence of more spiders had been the fault of the young human. Scowling, the elf slung her bow across her shoulders as she pulled her blades free of their sheaths.

"Sorry!" he shouted as he twisted around, spinning with both blades held out, slicing across the mandibles of one approaching monstrosity. His heart clenched as he took note of the glistening liquid that dripped from its maw. Great…

"Ware poison!" the warden shouted his warning as he twisted away, spinning to bring both blades to bear against the slowly turning creature. With a growl, fighting against the bile that rose in his throat, Duncan dashed forward, blades leading, to drive them deeply into the creature, nearly decapitating the creature in the process. Pushing off the soft body, Duncan turned, regaining his bearings as the spider slowed, its head barely attached to its body as the mandibles clacked together once…twice…and then ceased.

Twisting Fang, Adaia jammed her blade into the clacking mandible of her spider, twisting it further to pin the sharp maw open. Elbow twisted upwards in an awkward position, Adaia drew back her other blade – a curved bladed short sword Maric had given her during their years in the Rebellion.

With a cry, she plunged the blade deeply into the bunched eyes of the creature, jumping back and releasing her hold on the mandibles as it staggered backwards. Her back brushed against the dirt wall behind her. Dropping to the ground, she rolled beneath the creature's striking maw, rising to her feet slightly behind the nearly blinded spider. One sharpened appendage jabbed out at its foe, but the agile elven warrior danced back, beyond its reach. Her short sword swept out, meeting the still jabbing appendage, neatly severing it below the middle joint. Off balanced, the spider tilted, its remaining seven appendages skittering along the ground in an effort to maintain balance. Adaia, determined not to give it time to regain, jumped at the beast, body slamming it with her shoulder, and it tilted downward toward the ground. As she danced back, both blades swept forward, slicing two oozing paths along its backside. Frantically, the creature sought to regain its balance and meet its foe. But once again Adaia's blades found their mark, and soon the giant spider lay upon its belly, its life fluids oozing from deep wounds that it would soon succumb to.

Turning about, her eyes searching her companion, she gave out a cry as Duncan was enveloped beneath the hairy form of a spider twice the size of the others. With a muffled cry, the young man called out for his companion, who raced toward the pair.

Dancing to the front of the beast, Adaia jabbed with quick thrusts into the mandibles of the spider, keeping its attention upon her and not the unfortunate warden pinned beneath its bulk. Snapping forward, it raised its body enough for Duncan to get a better grip on his daggers and, with a quick movement, he managed to drive on blade into the creature's underbelly.

Giving out a shriek, the massive spider shifted momentarily, stupidly switching its attention from the darting elf to the pain beneath it. As it turned its front away from her, Adaia jumped forward, driving her dagger, Fang, deeply into the shoulder of the monstrosity. She gave her blade a good twist as the spider yanked its head toward her. Clear fluid spilled from the wound, pooling at Adaia's feet. As the spider twisted at her, it pulled her blade along with it. Still clutching her weapon, the elven warrior was yanked forward, her feet slipping in the spilled spider blood. With a startled cry, the elf's second hand shot forward, unconsciously seeking a hold. With a quick movement, the spider's mandible latched onto her forearm, piercing flesh and chipping bone. Her started cry turned into a shriek of pain as she attempted to twist away, tearing Fang from the spider flesh to bang upon the locking grip of the giant spider.

From beneath the beast, Duncan, now covered with the sticky fluids of the spider, could hear Adaia's distressed cries. Movements became more frantic as the Warden continued to hack his way from beneath the behemoth. The creature shifted again, seeking to free itself from the punishment it was receiving, but determined not to let go of the prey it currently held, the spider sidestepped, driving its sharpened leg downward, seeking to impale its tormenter. Duncan twist, tilted his head away, narrowly avoiding becoming impaled upon the creature's hind leg.

Pulling at her arm, Adaia swallowed the fear and bile that rose in her throat. The spider gave her arm a shake, much like a dog worrying a doll. Her feet slipped again on the spilled fluids, but she dug her heels in, determined not to be pulled closer to the snapping inner maw, from which glistening poison dripped. Numbly, she dropped her short sword as she raised Fang, seeking a target for her enchanted blade. Realizing she had only one option, she gritted her teeth.

"Adaia!" Duncan shouted as he drove his blades into the spider's underbelly, pulling one free to plunge it deeply just above the initial wound. He pulled his other dagger free and drove it in, this time above his head and pulled, using it as a handhold to pull himself free of the bulk that continued to keep him pinned. Struggling, face red with exertion, he inched his way closer to his dagger, pulling free the lower blade to plunge it above the first. Slowly and painfully, he repeated the process until his torso was free of the hairy, smelly bulk above him.

The sharp mandible scraped along the bone of her arm as she pushed her forward, driving her pinned arm deeper, wedging it to the elbow. Twisting her damaged arm, she managed to grasp hold of the creature, her fingers wrapping around the bonelike mandible. Taking a deep breath, she pulled Fang up, digging her heels in deeply to the moss covered earth. With a cry, she drove forward, using her body to force Fang as deeply into the creature's head as she could. The hold upon her arm tightened, and she shrieked again in agony as she felt flesh and muscle tear. Knowing she had little time left before her arm would break, she gave her dagger a savage twist, renting it to the side, tearing into the small head.

Now the spider sought to get away from its tormentors. Releasing the wedged arm, it attempted to back away, but Adaia followed it. Beneath it, Duncan continued to drive his blades deeply into the body, until he was fully free of its bulk. Rising, he took note of Adaia's bloodied arm and then turned back to the spider. With a shout, the young Warden jumped upon the creature's back, driving both blades into the junction of where the creature's torso met the small head. As Adaia continued her assault upon its face, Duncan sliced through the flesh and muscle holding the head to its body. With a final shudder, the head fell free of the massive body. Leaping free of the creature, Duncan watched with morbid fascination as the body continued to click awkwardly, limping from its injured leg, until it finally stopped, falling to the ground.

A hiss brought his attention back to his companion, who gripped her arm tightly to her chest. Feeling ill, hoping she had not been poisoned, Duncan reached into his pouch with the healing potions and poultices as he rushed to her side.

Her arm was a bloody mess. Flesh and muscle had been torn, and he was certain that, if not broken, her arm had fractured. Pouring some water onto a clean bandage, Duncan cleaned the wound, trying to ignore Adaia's hissing as she fought not to flinch away. Wishing they had a mage with them, Duncan fumbled out the healing poultices, wrapping one securing around her arm as she quickly drank down one of the healing potions. Grimacing at the sour taste, she pushed the empty vial back into Duncan's pack as the young man continued to wrap her injured arm in a clean bandage.

The pain subsided, and the elven warrior could feel that almost forgotten tingle as flesh and muscle knitted together. Without a healer, she knew that it would be many days before she could hold a blade with that arm, or even sight down her bow. Frowning, knowing that being able to fight only one handed made her a liability, she snarled at the young man that they had wasted enough time and needed to continue forward.

"Now wait just a second," The warden protested, tying the bandage and then working on a sling for her to hang about her neck. "Just give it a moment."

Sighing heavily, Adaia closed her eyes, regaining her composure. Opening them, she did a visual inspection of her companion.

Covered head to toe with sticky spider fluids, Duncan was a comical sight. His dark hair, kept long, stuck up in sharp spikes about his head. His eyebrows were plastered tight against his face, and his leathers fairly glistened with the stuff. After he slung the sling about her neck and helped her set her arm, she turned him about, noticing his back and backside were completely pasted with green phosphorus. Chuckling, she backed away, shaking her head at her companion.

Sheepishly, the young man raised a hand to his head, trying in vain to tame his locks and brush away the phosphorus.

Despite the pain in her arm, Adaia could not help but laugh at the sight the young man before her presented. Taking no offense, Duncan joined in, quieting to check over his handiwork.

"Are you certain you can continue on?" he asked after a moment, his eyes straying to her injured arm.

Nodding, Adaia remarked, "I can still track, although in a fight I may not hold up as well." She gave a slight shrug, grimacing in pain as the movement aggravated her injury.

"Need another potion?" Duncan offered as he began to dig into his pouch.

"No," Adaia answered, placing a hand upon his arm. "We do not have an endless supply of those. You did a good job with my arm." She gave him a wan, tired smile. "I doubt any poison got into it and the poultices will pull any infection out and the healing potion I have taken has already sped up the healing process."

Dark eyes fixed upon her pale face. In the green glow of the moss, her face had an eerie, sallow caste to it. However, her eyes were clear and as determined as ever. And if Duncan learned one thing about his traveling companion it was that she was perhaps the most stubborn person he had ever met. Arguing with her would serve no purpose.

And so, with a nod, he agreed to continue. Helping her resheath her discarded short sword, Duncan then allowed Adaia to continue to lead them through the underground tunnel.

0O0

Only the occasional spider harried their passage, to both Duncan and Adaia's relief. They did not want to have another battle to contend with, especially with Adaia practically out of any fight.

The path left behind by the rogue Warden mage soon led the pair to a small chamber. Stone and marble lay crumbled along the floor, great swaths of earth and natural stone protruded from the ceiling and walls, flowing over the ancient stonework. Piles of desiccated animal carcasses littered the floor along with the room's former furnishings, now little more than rotten fabrics and dust.

However, upon the further wall stood a mural, one depicting a great city filled with graceful spires and soaring buttresses. As the pair neared and gently wiped away the remaining dust, they could see that the inhabitants of this wonder of a city had been added, walking among the great hanging gardens or stopping by the stalls.

It was a complete picture of a city that had once, long ago, existed. The inhabitants small statured, slender and graceful. Dressed in flowing gowns and tailored outfits, mages and nobles alike sharing the same place.

It was an elven city.

Adaia stumbled back, her blue eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at the relief before her. Much of the mural had been damaged over time, but what was left…she shook her head, feeling slightly lightheaded.

"This must have been Arlathan," the elven warrior muttered, stepping closer again, her hand hovering just over the form of an elven mage as she smiled up into the face of a male.

Duncan only nodded his head, his eyes fixed upon the picture before them. As Adaia continued to stare with longing at the mural, Duncan moved away, his dark eyes skimming along the surface. Here and there the picture remained intact, however much was crumbling, dusty rock. As he moved along the mural, he paused, eyes narrowing as his brow furrowed. In the center of one piece – still intact and picturing a rising sun – was an indent, clean, free of dust and debris, and in a cylinder shape. Running his sensitive fingers along the smooth surface of the indent, Duncan called Adaia over as he continued his examination.

It took a moment before the elf could remove her sight from the mural, her heart light. She had to be certain to contact Marethari later, to let her and the clan know of this place…

"Duncan?" She asked as she drew near, her eyes watching as the human's long fingers traced over the indent within the rising sun.

"What do you make of this?" he asked as he stepped back, allowing the elven woman to lean in and examine the spot.

A small frown formed upon her lips and her eyes went immediately to the ground at their feet, searching. "Something had been kept there," she began.

"Until recently," Duncan finished, nodding, his arms crossed at his chest, a scowl forming upon his face. "Whatever was there," he pointed as Adaia straightened. "is gone."

Taking a breath, Adaia faced her companion. "It would appear that whatever had been held there was what your mage was looking for."

Eyes skimming along the mural, Duncan's frown deepened. "Any idea where he may have gone?"

Adaia stepped back to the mural, searching for any idea, any evidence, but found nothing. Sighing, she rubbed at her eyes for a moment. "The only real clue is a mention of Asha'bellanar from Marethari." The elven woman reminded Duncan as he stepped near to her side.

"Ash…oh, Flemeth," the warden nodded, recalling their conversation weeks ago with the keeper.

The pair remained silent for some time, Adaia's eyes fixed upon the image of the long lost elven city, Duncan's dark orbs fixed upon his feet. Marethari's mention of the ancient witch had been more speculation than anything. But the warden knew they had little else to go on. He lifted his head, searching the room, taking note of a small opening at the far right wall. Frowning, he stepped to it, ducking down to get a better view. Cool air wafted from the opening, an indication that this had been how Rikhard more than likely escaped this underground chamber.

Sighing, he planted his hands to his knees and rose. "To the Wilds?" he asked quietly, shaking his head, uncertain if that was truly the direction they should go.

With great effort, Adaia left her place in front of the image, and stepped to Duncan's side. "What if we are wrong?" she asked quietly as she placed a strong hand upon the young man's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

Shaking his dark head, Duncan let out a frustrated sigh. "What other choice do we have?" he asked after a time. "Unless he was thoughtful enough to leave a sign 'Find me at the old Grey Warden post'," he scowled down at his feet again. "Which I really doubt."

"We could always go back to the clan," Adaia suggested, her voice small. "Maybe Marethari found something out while we have been away."

Duncan remained silent, still staring down at his feet, as his mind backtracked to where the clan had camped and then the route further out to the Wilds. It may cost them an extra few days…"Didn't Marethari mention something about the clan moving along?"

"I think she may have," Adaia admitted. "However, she may have had them remain, until she heard further from us," the elf shrugged her shoulders, and then turned Duncan around so that he faced her. "It is for you to decide, Duncan. We will lose a few days going back to where we left the clan rather than continue on to the Wilds."

Scowling, really hating the idea that it was his decision, the young warden nodded. "We can backtrack to where the clan was camped," he agreed. "If they are there, we can, at the very least let Marethari know of this chamber. If they are gone…we've lost maybe three or four days…"

Sighing, still uncertain, Duncan looked up into Adaia's face. She offered him a weak smile and an even weaker shrug, indicating her own indecision in this matter. What they had hoped for upon discovering what Rikhard had searched for, they had not found it. Not a clear indication of what he was up to, not any indication where he may have headed after leaving the ruins.

One thing was for certain – they could not remain here. A decision one way or the other had to be made. So…

"Okay, we'll backtrack, and make our way to the Wilds," Duncan decided with a firm nod.

Smiling, Adaia stepped forward, ducking down to enter the small opening Duncan had discovered. With a final glance around the chamber, the young warden ducked his head and followed after the elf.


	12. Chapter 12

The journey from the ruins back into the sunlit world aboveground had been tedious, tiresome and miserable. Adaia's arm ached along the muscles and well into the joints, and Duncan had to insist – again – that the stubborn elven woman take another health potion to alleviate any discomfort, with the hopes of further flushing any poison or infection that may have settled into the limb.

The young Warden had also insisted that the woman keep her arm in a sling, slung tightly across her chest, as he led the pair from the site of the ruins back toward where Adaia indicated the Dalish camp had been. Following her verbal directions, the young man managed to find the trail leading back to the Dalish camp.

The trip back had been largely uneventful, save for those moments when the Dalish hunter would pause, peering into the deep shadows that surrounded them, her clear blue-gray eyes narrowing as they sought to penetrate deeper into the shadowy treeline. The young Warden had learned early on to trust the woman's instincts, and would pause in his tracks, his dark head tilted as he, too, tried to discern what had caught the elf's attention. He knew better than to question the woman until she had indicated either that whatever had caught her attention had passed or to issue out a command to ready for an encounter. However, during their four day trek back to the campsite, Adaia would merely shake her sunny blonde head, scowl into the shadows, and then motion for them to resume their march.

An overwhelming sense of disappointed settled into Duncan's chest as they neared the familiar outskirts of the campsite and found no sentries awaiting their return.

Adaia, of course, had noticed said absence, and took the lead, her arm still hanging in its sling, the long, curving dagger held tightly in her free hand. Duncan frowned as the elf took point, but only the shake of his head indicated his disapproval of the move as he stepped directly behind the elven woman, keeping as close as he could without becoming a detriment should they meet with resistance.

The caution on both their parts was wasted, however, as they entered the clearing, now devoid of avarels, halla, and elves. No evidence remained of the previous elven occupation could be found.

"Well," Duncan breathed out after a moment of taking in the empty clearing, "it looks like they picked up camp." He turned to his silent companion, noting the thoughtful pull between her brows. "Any idea where they went?"

That blonde head tilted down, gray-blue eyes settled upon her feet as she stood, thinking. After a moment, she shook her head. "I have been away too long," she muttered, still frowning as she lifted her head with a soulful sigh. "The clans always change the paths of their journeys, never returning to the same site during the same time of year. Sometimes, many sites are not even ventured to until many years have passed, if ever." Her slender body turned a circuit, her eyes, clear and almost mournful, taking in the scene once more of the abandoned site. "We've been nearly two weeks gone. My clan could be half way to the Free Marches by now."

Letting loose a deep, loud sigh, his cheeks puffing out as he forcibly expelled his breath, Duncan nodded, frowning at the area about them. "So," he said as he let his pack slip from his shoulders and fall to the ground. Adaia turned to stare at him, that same thoughtful frown between her brow and upon her lips. "What do you suggest?"

The corner of her mouth twitched slightly as she gazed at her companion, and then she, too, let slip down her pack. "We make camp and rest here the evening," she decided. "There is plenty of game, so we will save what rations we have. Then, in the morning…" she drifted off, the slight smirking twisting down into a frown again. Then, with a barely noticeable nod, she continued, "We turn our path toward the Wilds."

Now it was Duncan's turn to frown in thought, and Adaia almost chuckled at the lines that creased his youthful features, giving the young, impetuous man an almost stern look. The elf could not help but feel that she was getting a rare look at what the young Warden would look like in just a couple of decades.

That frown disappeared quickly, however, and Duncan now smirked. "Okay," he remarked, kicking his pack away and turning to gather firewood. "I'll get the wood, you get the dinner."

He stopped, remembering Adaia's injury. Turning, he found her smirking at him, an elegant blonde brow raised, her bow held out to him in her free hand. "Ah, okay," he amended, reaching out to accept the proffered weapon. His fingers teased along the smooth surface, feeling the carefully carved figures upon the ancient wood. "I guess I'll get the firewood and dinner." He settled the bow upon his shoulder and reached out for the quiver of arrows the elf now held out to him.

"Good thought," the Dalish woman quipped, as she moved her pack to a nearby log and settled down to begin rummaging through the pack.

Watching her for a moment, Duncan nodded, and then slipped out into the forest.

0O0

An hour later, and the pair had a fire roaring and three hares spitted over the pit. Adaia had pulled the pair's bedrolls and sleeping bags free of the packs, deciding that, since the weather was fair they could sleep in the open. Duncan had felt a little wary of that, not truly enjoying sleeping under the stars (to do so brought back memories of his childhood upon the streets of Val Royeaux), however he had learned a thing or two about his companion, and decided that he would simply have to rough it under the stars for the night.

It was once the hares had been cooked and Adaia had pulled them free of the spit that Duncan noticed the tension in her shoulders. She sat straight, her arm still hurting enough to prevent her from fully relaxing. Her clear eyes turned back toward the surrounding shadows, the flickering flames causing them to dance along the perimeter of their tiny campsite.

"Something wrong?" Duncan found himself asking as he took his plate from Adaia's outstretched hand.

The frown back in place upon her face, Adaia never turned her gaze from the shadows. "I feel as though we are being followed…watched," she shook her head, finally turning her gaze to Duncan, whose own dark eyes now scanned the surrounding forest. "I think I see something, feel it along the edges of my senses, however when I turned to look fully at whatever I thought I saw…it is no longer there."

"Well, that's just…creepy," Duncan muttered, frowning into the surrounding darkness, his active imagination now seeing figures within the dancing shadow, brought to life by the flickering firelight.

Scoffing, Adaia shook her head at the young human. "'Creepy' indeed," she intoned, raising a brow as Duncan's attention focused back upon her. The young warden felt a slight flush creep up his neck, and he was, again, thankful for his dark coloring.

Sighing, the elf finally relaxed against the log she leaned upon, pulling the meat from her hare as she began her meal. "I may simply be out of sorts," she remarked before biting into one of the legs. "Being unable to wield my weapons and what we discovered in the ruins…" she gave a slight shrug, chewing thoughtfully upon her meal. "I truly had hoped Marethari would have kept the clan camped her for a time. I could truly use her insight."

Shrugging, the Grey Warden bite with enthusiasm into his meal. "Well," he said, speaking around the mouthful of meat in his mouth. "I would sooner trust your 'being out of sorts' to many others hard, cold facts." He swallowed, his eyes dipping down as the flush crept hotter up his neck as Adaia's seeking eyes turned to him.

Smirking slightly, the elven hunter replied, "My thanks for your trust," before continuing with her meal.

Their meal completed, the pair decided to hunker down for the night. Adaia had insisted upon their taking turns at watch and, having no viable argument against it, especially after confessing how well he trusted her instincts, Duncan agreed to take the second watch and then settled down upon his bedroll, pulling his sleeping bag over him. With a nod, Adaia pushed herself to sit atop her log, her dagger settled upon the rotting wood beside her, her eyes fixed upon the surrounding shadows, her ears open to any unusual sounds. Before her, the flames of their campfire flickered restlessly, licking upwards toward the stars as tiny sparks separated from the flames and danced along the current and upwards.

0O0

Seated before his own flickering campfire, Rikhard watched as the flames danced and licked upwards beneath the looming shadow of the Tower of Ishal. A slender hand reached up, touching lightly upon where the amulet lay against his skin beneath the leathern tunic. Tilting his head slightly, he listened to the winding wind, catching the hint of the swamp in the air. A tingle ran through his fingers and along his chest as the amulet, too, sensed his anticipation.


	13. Chapter 13

After the disappointment of finding the Dalish camp abandoned, the pair turned their path toward the Wilds. Despite having no solid leads as to the direction Rikhard was now traveling in, the pair decided upon that course based upon the briefly touched upon subject of Flemeth during their conversations with Marethari. Truly, the Witch of the Wilds was the only lead the pair had.

They would break their campsite down before the sun rose each morning, traveling well into the night to the last vestiges of sunshine. Spired shadows and uneven grounds made traveling deeper into the night too dangerous for the pair.

And never, during their week long sojourn through the Brecillian Forest, did the pair feel completely at ease, always glancing over their shoulders as the prickling feeling that they were being watched – followed – tingled along the highly aware pair's nervous system, prickling along their spines, burning at the base of their skulls. Several times, either Duncan or Adaia would call a halt to their progress, slipping steadily lightening packs from weary shoulders, to pull either blade or bow free of their resting place as they peered into deepening shadows and gloomy crevices within the eerie primeval woods to seek out those who watched their progress.

Nothing revealed itself to the observant pair, and yet neither could shake the feeling of being scrutinized as they continued their journey from the ancient woodland to the more traveled Kings Highway. Only once they had moved beyond the border of the wooded wild lands did either allow themselves to relax. Whatever had been traveling unseen by their sides had turned back once the perimeter of the ancient wood became visible.

Once free of the trees, the pair turned their course south-east, heading toward the Wilds. Adaia led the way with calm determination, recalling the path to the unchartered wilderness from her time prior to and during the rebellion. She smirked as she recalled the seemingly wild tales the Whimpering Fool and Loghain had told her of their first rather disastrous foray into the realm of Asha'bellanar. While Maric had spewed out tales of prophesy and dire words, Loghain had merely shrugged his shoulders, declaring that the woman that had shown them the way out of the wilds had been senile and crazed. As much as she loved her dark-haired and stoically inclined friend, Adaia had found herself believing Maric's tale over Loghain's sensible explanation.

After all, her clan had had many dealings with the Woman of Many Years. She was fully aware of the ancient witch's propensity for inserting herself into any historically motivated action whenever possible.

The Dalish hunter was therefore surprised when her strong southerly route was turned more easterly by her human companion.

"Duncan," she said with exaggerated patience. "If you wish to get to the Wilds anytime soon, we should keep to a more southerly course…"

Shaking his dark head, Duncan turned to his friend, noticing her confused expression. "Sorry, Adaia. Call it a hunch, but I think we should cut through the ruins."

A heavy frown marred her lovely features as stormy eyes scanned the horizon, tracing a path toward the Tevinter ruins Duncan wished to traverse into. The young Warden recognized the anger seething behind those eyes, and felt himself flinch as she took a sharp intake of breath.

"I think I have had enough of old shemlen ruins, Duncan."

Astounded his flinch had not been in vain, Duncan stepped closer to his companion. "Look," Adaia turned her attention to him, the dark gray of her eyes clearing slightly. "It's just a hunch – a guess – but the amulet led Rikhard into an old Tevinter ruin back in the Forest…"

"Those ruins had also been of elven influence," the Dalish was quick to remind her human companion, the gray once more permeating her eyes as her anger continued to build. Duncan blinked once, dark eyes fixed upon Adaia's as a realization came upon him. It was not solely anger that darkened her eyes to storms, but intermingled with fear.

Adaia Mahariel Tabris was afraid to travel within the confines of the Tevinter ruins.

Not that Duncan was fool enough to bring that little tidbit to the elf's attention. No, he liked his head firmly upon his shoulders. He had also been thoroughly enjoying the growing friendship between the two, knowing fully how fortunate he was that this almost xenophobic elf would count him among her few shemlen friends. In fact, this day had been the first time she had even uttered that word, shemlen, since they had left the cleared remains of her clan's former campsite.

Now, how to convince her without bringing attention to the fact he knows that she's more afraid of going into those ruins than she's willing to admit? With a slight shake of his head, the young warden knew that there would be no going around it.

"Still Tevinter," he countered with the barest of shrugs, watching as that frown deepened. "Look," he turned fully to face her, pointing toward the east. "That amulet obviously led our missing Warden to those ruins in the forest, right?" Here, Adaia nodded her agreement, eyes narrowing slightly as she focused her attention upon the young man. "Now, doesn't it make sense that perhaps – just perhaps – there is something within the ruins of the wilds that may attract Rikhard?"

Sighing with a shake of her head, Adaia pressed fingers to the bridge of her nose. "It seems too…simple," she muttered. Raising her blonde head, she shifted her gaze southwards. "Did we not discuss Asha'bellanar with Marethari…?"

Keeping his eyes fixed upon his companion, Duncan gave a nod, adding "Of course I do." He stepped forward a bit, bringing Adaia's attention back to him. "However, I really…" sighing with exasperation, Duncan ran a hand through his long, dark hair. "Look, Adaia, I know it seems strange. But, I've been running my entire life on hunches." A blonde brow quirked up in wry amusement, matching perfectly the smirk that tilted up her lips.

Flushing slightly, the young Grey Warden drawled out, "Yes, yes, I know. And look where it's gotten me," he grinned then. "But, it's also gotten me out of even more scrapes. Of course, yes, they were scrapes I got myself into, so I really should have learned..." He paused at the elf's amused expression, his flush deepening slightly. Coughing slightly to cover up his embarrassment, he continued. "Anyway, I have a hunch that the amulet it tied in with Tevinter. And…"

Raising a long fingered, calloused hand, Adaia interrupted the youth's verbal stumbling. "Okay, Duncan, okay," she acquiesced with a deep sigh. "We shall travel onward to the ruins and see what we can find there." The look of amusement changed, darkening slightly. "However, once we are through there, and we find nothing…"

"We'll resume our trek toward the depth of the Wilds," the Grey Warden agreed as he shouldered his pack back into place upon his shoulders. "Got it. Understood. I completely agree."

Staring at him for a moment, the elf then simply shook her head, adjusted her own pack, and turned away. "You had best hope we find something, Duncan."

Looking at her back, the young man let out his held breath and glanced up to the sky. Mouthing "Thank you" into the air, he jogged to the elf's side, matching her stride for stride toward the ancient ruins of Ostagar.

)0(

The great ruins of Ostagar came into view ahead, the ancient Tevinter fortress sprawling over several acres bordering the Korcari Wilds. Even at that distance and despite centuries of abandonment, the ancient power of the Tevinter Imperium almost radiated from the structure, chilling the young Warden to his very core. Frowning, he glanced back at his companion, who merely took in the sprawling, towering mass of ancient stone with a mere glance as they continued their pace forward.

As the sun peeked over the horizon at the start of a new day, the travelers stood before the arched entryway that led into the ancient ruins. Adaia had stopped, her gray-blue gaze moving upwards, and upwards still, taking in the sheer enormity of the fortress itself. Duncan stopped as well, his own gaze trailing over the ruins in awe at the sheer enormity of the structure. High stone walls reached up toward the sky, their jagged edges creating a false horizon. Where once ceilings had protected the stone floor, now only open sky could be seen. High arches indicated where doorways once stood, and in the distance towers could be seen, their tips piercing into the sky. Taking in a deep breath and letting it slowly out, Adaia stepped under the first arch and into Ostagar. As they walked along the uneven stones of the pathway, Duncan pointed toward a ramp to their right. "That is the Tower of Ishal," he explained. "It is named for its architect and was considered quite a marvel of architecture in its day."

Keen eyes taking in the ruins before them, Adaia quirked one brow as she turned her gaze back to her companion. "'Quite the marvel'…for human architecture, you mean." There was no condescension in her tone, merely a faint, teasing quality that stopped Duncan in his explanation to raise a dark brow in response.

Chuckling, sweeping one hand out grandly, the Grey Warden remarked, "I am certain that, compared to the wonders of Arlathan, this is just a stable, so" there was a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes as Adaia's lips twitched slightly, "you really should forgive us quick children."

With a roll of her eyes, the Dalish woman turned away, shaking her head. "Come on, quick child," was accompanied by a short chuckle.

Grinning, Duncan stepped quickly to fall in step beside the tall elf. A small sense of triumph threatening to turn the grin into an outright smile.

"Don't push it," Adaia growled from beside him, causing him to miss a step as they passed beneath one crumbling archway and into Ostagar.

)0(

Hours later, as the sun reached its midpoint in the sky, found the pair standing in an open courtyard at the very base of the ancient fortress. Standing near the center of the courtyard, Adaia turned in a slow circuit, gazing up the crumbling walls, age stained with lichen growing upon the rough surface within the shadowed areas, moss creeping along the cracks and crevices. Higher her eyes turned, blinking in the afternoon sun as she took in the soaring buttresses, still majestic even in their decay. A small smile turned the corners of her generous mouth upwards; despite having been built by the Tevinter Imperium, the very people responsible for her own people's downfall, she could not help but be impressed. The very age of the ancient fortress spoke to her.

As his elven companion stared at the structure around and above them, Duncan stepped closer to the base of the Tower of Ishal, his eyes traveling upwards to where the bell tower stood atop the ancient tower. A slight nagging tickled along his senses, and he frowned, stepping away and turning, his eyes narrowing as they sought to peer into the deeper shadows the obscured the crumbling base. With a sidelong glance toward the Dalish warrior, he stepped closer, concentrating his senses toward the darkness. The tickling sensation increased, and he now frowned deeper, understanding what he sensed even before conscious thought took over.

Darkspawn.

He was certain that what he sensed came from below ground, somewhere deep beneath him. Stepping back and away, he turned, hurrying his pace toward his companion. He had no intention of facing the enemy of every Grey Warden now. Not with Adaia's safety in jeopardy should he do so. He had felt guilty taking her from her family at such a crucial time. He had no intentions of subjecting her to any further danger than necessary.

And hunting out a darkspawn nest was not a necessity at this time.

Consciously slowing his pace, he gained Adaia's side, encouraging her that they now leave the ruins, and follow the path into the Kocari Wilds. Trying to ignore the questioning look upon her lovely face, Duncan turned and led the way from the courtyard, through a ruined gate and into the Wilds.


End file.
